


Dream a Little Dream

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Reality, Dreams, First Dates, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, mystrade, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 81,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes knows he's not the most scintillating man in the world, but wonders what it would be like if there was just a <i>bit</i> more sparkle in his smile.  Or if he had a smile at all.  Like a certain Detective Inspector of his acquaintance, who he would very much like to make a better acquaintance, if he only had the chance.  Perhaps a little wish might be of help... at least in his dreams...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for [LydSqd](http://lydsqd.tumblr.com/) who won it in the [2015 Rupert Graves Birthday Project](http://rupertgravesbirthdayproject.tumblr.com/Birthday2015) to benefit [Wild Futures](http://www.wildfutures.org/), the monkey sanctuary in Cornwall. Do stop by and tell her thanks for being a wonderful, generous person to help out monkeys in need!

      “I ask so little of you, Sherlock…”

      “Little?  You pester me continuously with your ridiculous and utterly tedious demands.”

Midday and his brother was still in his dressing gown, unshod and looking for all the world as if he would remain that way for the rest of the day.  What a joy it must be to live an unfettered life…

      “Is the weather nice in the altered mental reality in which you reside, dear brother?”

      “At least I _possess_ a mental reality.  You exist in a sterile, colorless, coliseum of blankness interrupted only by the unceasing scrolling of ones and  zeros that stream through the gears and cogs of the hopped-up adding machine that forms your brain.”

      “I believe you are mistaking analytical ability for cyberneticism.”

      “An android has far more emotional range than do you.  Bland, dreary… a sadly saggy blancmange in an expensive suit.”

      “And you are the epitome of emotional demonstration, I presume.”

      “Compare to you, I am a hysteric.”

      “Compared to a circus clown, you are a hysteric.”

      “You are one-dimensional.  A kazoo in the symphony of life.”

      “If that is your rather dramatic way of saying that I am single-minded, I would offer the compliment back to you and show you the additional courtesy of not naming you a hypocrite.”

      “Your soul has no passion.  For anything.”

      “Your soul has no discipline.  For anything.”

      “My point is proved.”

      “Your point rests squarely upon your head and, since I observe it each time we speak in person, yes… your point is proved.”

Sherlock snorted and flung himself onto the sofa, facing away from the room and silently cursing John for being so immeasurably inconsiderate as to insist on doing the shopping when he could be rattling his saber at the elephant that had lumbered into the flat.

Realizing that Sherlock’s mood was particularly infantile today, Mycroft heaved a well-practiced, resigned sigh and left the flat.  His brother was exasperating.  No sense of priority, let alone duty.  A petulant child who lived as he pleased with no thought for the consequences.  Truly, he would find no satisfaction today, but this particular matter could wait a day or two until Sherlock was in a more amenable mood.  Or _he_ had a chance to speak with the good doctor and set a proverbial bug in his ear.  A quick peek at John’s finances said that the man might be somewhat eager to convince Sherlock to take on a  case, if he was well-assured the wage for the work would be (a) significant and (b) paid in advance.  Happily, their employer would be more than happy to make both those dreams come true…

__________

With some degree of frustration to work through, Mycroft ordered his driver to take the long way back to his office and any long way would do.  A good half-hour into their trip, in a part of London that had rarely, if ever, saw the elder Holmes sibling’s presence, Mycroft was tapping on the driver’s shoulder and bidding him pull the car to the curb.  For there… nestled amongst some rather modest establishments was a sight that drew him like a moth to a flame.  A bookshop.  If there was one thing he could claim to love, besides his nappy-clad brother, it was bookshops.  The new ones were pleasant, but the old ones… the aged ones were fragrant with the smell of words, the tales they told, and that was an aroma he found highly intoxicating.

Take this particular example.  Small, cramped, with books on every possible surface, including the floor… books with leather or paper bindings that showed honest wear from literate hands.  He had thought he knew all such locales in London, but this one had escaped his notice.  Until now.

      “May I help you, sir?”

      “I am simply browsing, thank you.  But… now that you ask, would you have any Verne?

      “I believe we do.  Are you looking for a first edition?”

Now, that was surprising.  And highly interesting.

      “If one is on offer, I might be intrigued.”

      “Then do follow me.”

Here?  In this rather quaint, yet amusingly-haphazard shop?  Today was certainly a day for surprises…

      “We have several, actually.  I assume you would be interested in first UK editions.”

Implying American or, even, French might be present.  This was a staggering thing!

      “I would, actually.  To start, at least.”

      “Sir is a collector, I presume.  We see so few true collectors anymore.  Here we are, this is the case.  Yes, this top shelf has a number in which you might have interest.  Some Wells, also, if he is to your taste.  A bit too much of a Socialist for some, but if we ignore that, a fine writer of many interesting tales.  Do feel free to ask if you would like to examine something more closely.”

Mycroft waited while the man moved off to other business before letting his astonishment show on his face.  Dear heavens, let him not be drooling, for this… this was incredible!  He was not entirely unaware of the rare book market and… how had this shop not already been plundered?  It was a book-lover’s fondest dream!  His fingers were practically itching to snatch every book and demand it be added to his bill.

But… what if there was a fly in the ointment.  Could these be stolen?  Those sufficiently uncultured to steal a book should be, in his opinion, put into stocks in the public square and pelted with rotten vegetables and animal dung, but that did not mean the practice was unheard of.  Especially for books as handsome as these.  Even gazing upon them through the slight distortion of antique glass, he found their beauty mesmerizing.

      “And how is sir doing?  Is there any particular volume you would like to see more closely?”

All of them.

      “I did have my eye on the _From the Earth to the Moon_.”

      “And a most excellent eye it is.  It is truly an enjoyable story and the condition of this copy is exceptional.  May I take it out for you?”

Well, it wasn’t illegal to _look_ at stolen merchandise, was it?

      “Please do.”

      “Very good.  And while you conduct your inspection, I shall obtain the provenance for you to examine, as well.”

Now that was… oh dear.  This could be very dangerous.  Very, very dangerous.  Not that much was really dangerous given his personal financial situation; however… this month’s bank statement might demonstrate a rather substantial dip because the book was superb… truly the condition _was_ exceptional.  It had been tenderly held by caring hands in its life and… it would be beastly to allow the possibility that some  vulgarian who wanted it only for its monetary worth have the opportunity to lay their hands upon it!

      “Here you are, sir.  I hope you find everything in order.”

Well… he had seen a quantity of inauthentic documents in his lifetime that equaled the blades of grass in a sheep field and this bore none of the telltale signs of fabrication.  As far as he could discern, and there was no more discerning eye than his, the documentation for the book was genuine.  Dangerous…

      “And I presume you can provide similar for any of the volumes you offer?”

      “Of course not!”

What?

      “Pardon?”

      “It is really a poor use of my time to research the history of a second-hand copy of the most recent edition of one of the Harry Potter titles.”

      “Ah… yes.  I understand.  I believe I became a bit overly focused on a particular section of your stock.”

      “I do try and cater to all segments of our book-buying population, from those such as yourself to the children who save their pence to build a collection to call their own.  Now, is there anything else I might show you?”

Should he?  It was an unseemly indulgence, however… he _never_ indulged himself and this was books!  His lifelong fascination with books had never waned through the years and now… now he was a grown man and allowed the occasional indulgence, was he not?  Besides, it was not as if anyone, besides him, would ever know…

      “Actually, yes.  I see a few I might find enjoyable.”

      “I am at your service, sir.  Please, do go on…”

__________

Oh, this was shameful.  Wonderfully, gloriously, shameful…

      “An admirable selection, sir.  Truly, you shall enjoy many a comfortable evening with a fine story to entertain you.”

Such was very much his plan.  A warm fire, a good brandy, a well-loved book in his hand… it was nearly a spiritual experience and tonight was blessedly free of encumbrances so he could luxuriate in his hedonism.

      “Thank you, that is quite my intent.  Though… oh.  I do not believe this is one of mine.”

Mycroft lifted a small, though very comely, volume off the top of his stack and turned it over in his hand.

      “Ah, yes… a little extra to say thank you for your business.  It is a lovely thing, is it not?  A wish book, of sorts.  You scribe a wish on the first page and it is said it will then come true.  It is quite old, but in fine condition.  I do hope you will accept.”

It was most tempting.  The book boasted a deep green leather covering the boards and the spine was a rich and succulent brown.  The pages were delightfully thick and heavy indicating the finest paper had been used in the construction.  It was a lovely thing and one place he knew it would be safe and treasured was in his own hands.

      “I will happily accept, thank you.  Oh, and what is the owner to scribe on the remaining pages?”

      “I suspect those will sort themselves out in time.  Now, shall this be cash, cheque or charge?”

Mycroft ran a loving hand over his stack of new friends, then withdrew his chequebook from his jacket pocket.  Oh, this was a profoundly decadent treat, yet he could not regret a bit of it.  Tonight would be a truly special night and those happened so rarely in his life…

__________

‘Rarely’ was, apparently now an official synonym for _never_.  Of course, the one night he had set aside for his own enjoyment, the Dark Prince of Infuriation would see fit to… oh, this was ridiculous, even for Sherlock.

      “I really didn’t want to phone you, sir, but the paramedics won’t take them because… well, they know them and think this is just rewards… and the HazMat squad laughed when I tried to get them out here.  I thought… maybe you could order a rubbish truck out or a few lads to roll some oil drums over and continue rolling them to Casualty.”

Mycroft glared from afar at Sherlock and John who had spent the last few hours in the sewers and then a fish processing business and could be smelled at a distance of 100 yards with no appreciable reduction in pungency.

      “I think Sherlock’s got a concussion and John’s definitely sprained his ankle, or worse.  Maybe you know a doctor who’d be willing to come out here and take a look at them?  Someone who owes you a _really_ big favor?”

So many of the police service would simply wave goodbye to the two idiots and let them find their way home to heal as best they could, which, truth be told, _would_ be said idiots’ preference, but Detective Inspector Lestrade was an exemplar of a caring and honorable man.  An exquisite and succulently masculine man, as well, but that was quite beside the point at this particular moment.

      “I shall handle matters, Detective Inspector.  Thank you for alerting me to the situation.  I believe the military produces gas masks with the requisite filtration to allow for the appropriate medical personnel to tend to my brother and Doctor Watson.”

      “Good!  That’s good to hear.  The lads in the motor pool have a fit if you bring back a vehicle with so much as a scratch on it, let alone on that has to have all the upholstery replaced and sit in a vat of disinfectant for a week.”

And dearest Gregory _would_ surely take the sewer  rats to hospital himself and suffer the eternal burden of the loss of his sense of smell if no other help could be found for them.

      “Yes, well, it shall certainly not come to that.  I simply hope this might be concluded in a reasonable amount of time.”

      “Oh… got plans for the evening, sir?”

Plans?  The most delicious of plans.  Though… to what heights might those plans rise if there was another to share them with him?  Someone whose intelligence and sense of humor were as brilliant and scintillating as his luminous smile?  Someone with a warm heart, but who understood duty and sacrifice as comprehensively as he did compassion… what a glorious thing that would be.  Utterly and amazingly gl…

      “O……k.  Right, sorry, sir.  None of my business.”

What?  Oh dear heavens… he had committed a slight.  A pompous and poncy slight against the man who was attempting to be cordial and show interest… this was horrifying!  And must be rectified!

      “It is quite alright, Detective Inspector.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have certain arrangements to make.”

Imbecile!  That was not rectification!  That was… confirmation.  Confirmation of the most arrogant and supercilious sort.  This was why he made grand and special plans for _one_ in his life.  How was it that Gregory could be so easily and admirably affable and the best _he_ could manage was stiff, starched  politeness.  _Was_ there any passion in his soul?  Or was Sherlock right?  Tonight seemed to offer evidence very much in support of that position and that sat as well with him as a lunch served in a paper bag with plastic cutlery tossed in for good measure.

Mycroft walked away without looking back at Lestrade who sighed and gave himself, at least, credit for trying.  Having to clean up Sherlock and John’s nonsense was a thankless job and… well, it might be nice if the two people who were tasked with that thankless job could have a moment now and then to commiserate and share battle stories.  Mr. Holmes seemed a decent sort, though he had a hard time letting people _know_ he was a decent sort, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get to know him better.  Share a few collegial words over these pretty little catastrophes or a cup of the throat-stripping coffee that was always available from somewhere when this sort of thing was going on.  That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?  It wasn’t like he was proposing a long, moonlit walk with the man.   Or holding hands while they took that long, moonlit walk.  Certainly not sharing a soft, tender kiss along the way, too.  Or several!  Several was good.  Not that he was proposing that, at all.  Not a bit.  At least, not out loud…

This time, it was Lestrade who walked away, first towards Sherlock and John, then in the completely opposite direction, to bang on the window of one of the police cars and order them to let him inside to huddle away from the stench.  Really, what had those two gotten into?  He could only hope the people Mycroft brought in to handle this were well-prepared.  Maybe some death-row inmates, put there because of heinous crimes committed against widows and orphans. Or Tories.  That would work, too.  Work very well, actually, in his opinion…

__________

Mycroft looked at the clock in his hallway and let it drop the axe on his hoped-for plans for the evening.  And, of course, he would not likely see an evening free for the remainder of the week, if his work schedule traveled its normal course.  Perfect.  Thank you, once again, brother dear, for bringing to my life the stultifying tedium I have come to call a dear friend.

Setting aside his valise and umbrella once he reached his study, Mycroft cast an eye over the new books on his shelves and smiled wistfully.  At least books were patient.  They did not mind if you could not spare attention for them every day.  They happily waited for you, knowing that when you were able, they would be adored and treasured for the special things they were.  So, he would just put back the one he had chosen and…

That was odd.  He hadn’t remembered taking down the little extra book, yet there it sat atop the one he had chosen to read tonight.  Well, it was a silly thing and he _had_ been rather discombobulated when he received the call from Gregory.  Odd that he seemed to have a fondness for the little thing, for it was not as if he truly had any use for the tome.  A wish book… such a juvenile concept.  Likely a diary of some form, but that, in honesty, did not have the whimsical hook that a wishing object possessed, thereby making it a less-desirable impulse purchase.

Thumbing through the blank and pristine pages, Mycroft settled on the first one and admired the endpapers that cradled it and its brethren.  That really was his problem, wasn’t it?  He had no _whimsy_ in his soul.  No… no, that was not entirely true.  It did exist, buried so far down it would take an archaeological excavation to unearth the poor frightened thing, but it _did_ exist.  There _was_ passion and whimsy and humor and creativity huddled at his core, he simply… he simply had never felt comfortable expressing it and the few times he had tried had, unfailingly, been disasters.  There was more to  himself than he allowed to show and he could say that keeping that part of himself locked tightly away had served him very well in his career.  It had not, however, served him well in any other arena of his life.

      “Perhaps that is my wish, little book.  That I could be more the sort of man who could take a pen in hand and script something on your page, knowing it was simply a lark to do so.  And, maybe… maybe be the sort of man who could have _someone_ in his life to show his frivolity and share a smile.”

Mycroft went to close the book, then dropped it like a hot coal when he saw his wish appear, in exactly his own handwriting, across the front page.  Word for word.  And inked in precisely the same manner as when he used his precious vintage Onoto pen to scribe an especially important document.  Rubbing his eyes made no difference in the sight that was staring up at him from sofa on which the book had landed and that was setting off all the alarm bells he had strung across the vast expanse of his orderly, practical and logical mind.  This was not possible.  It should, absolutely, _not_ be possible. Yet… there it was.  Something was going on and  somethings did not happen to Mycroft Holmes.  _Never_ to him and certainly not in his own house.   So he was damned well going to find out what this something was…


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing… he could find nothing amiss with the book. The paper was simply paper, not any form of facsimile in which microcircuitry might be embedded.  A cutting of the endpapers and removal of the boards produced no evidence of electronics or projection equipment.  It was a book!  _Parts_ of a book, now, but a book nonetheless.  He had rendered it to pieces and found not the smallest evidence that it had any other identity, but that could not be.  Still his words looked up at him from the page and in no manner was that possible.  None.

Placing all pieces of the book inside one of his safes, the one used specifically for matters of the most extreme secrecy, Mycroft entombed his enigma and, for good measure, the rest of his purchases.  They, also, appeared to simply be books, but what did that even mean, given the circumstances?  Tomorrow he would bring the items to the people who specialized in this sort of thing and have them turn every resource in their possession towards an explanation.  Which had to exist, there was simply no other option.

__________

After failing to find any peace watching a television program and, further, finding himself unable to focus on any matter of work, Mycroft decided he would do something he had not done is easily a decade – go to bed early.  It was not that he was never fatigued, it was simply that he saw so little point in wasting time sleeping when there were other things to attend to.  Tonight, however, a long rest sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.  Everything was clearer after a night’s slumber, was it not?  Dust away the cobwebs and look at situations with a refreshed eye… that was the very thing he needed and, somewhat surprisingly, neither his body nor mind protested, and it was only moments after his head hit the pillow that Mycroft found himself deeply asleep.

~~~~~

      “I really didn’t want to phone you, sir, but the paramedics won’t take them because… well, they know them and think this is just rewards… and the HazMat squad laughed when I tried to get them out here.  I thought… maybe you could order a rubbish truck out or a few lads to roll some oil drums over and continue rolling them to Casualty.”

      “Do not give it another thought Detective Inspector.  In truth, I would have been most aggrieved if you had not alerted me for I would have missed this rather spectacular example of Sherlock’s humiliation.  In fact…”

Out came Mycroft’s mobile and a photo was taken of the devastatingly-putrid detective duo.

      “Ah… another addition to the family album.  It shall proudly reside between the photo of toddler Sherlock falling face first into fresh sheep dung and the glorious image of his fifteen year-old self when he thought cutting his own hair was more efficient than having the matter attended to professionally.  Even the gardener’s hound was startled by the result of that particular experiment.”

Lestrade laughed loudly, which drew Sherlock’s scowling attention, though the detective had no idea what he was scowling about and the scowl was simply to satisfy principle.

      “I will pay you a week’s wage to get a look at that album.”

      “I shall keep that in mind for when my sweets fund runs low.  Now, I suppose I must make some arrangements for their burial… I mean… cleansing and medical attention.  I simply hope this might be concluded in a reasonable amount of time.”

      “Oh… got plans for the evening, sir?”

      “One might say that.”

      “What else might one say, if it’s not too nosy to ask?”

      “That I have waiting at home a ruggedly handsome book, with a ribald glass of brandy to round out the experience.”

      “Perfect!  That’s what I call a fine evening.  Wish I had more quiet evenings at home, myself.  Reading something good?”

      “Just today I added to my collection a few fondly-remembered Jules Verne titles and one shall serve as my bosom companion for the evening.”

      “Well, it’s official.  You’ve got the best evening ever.  I love Verne!  Read him all the time as a lad and I still pick up a copy of something by him now and then when I make a stop at the library.  Poe, too.  Never could get enough of Poe.  Have an old, dog-eared paperback I keep in my desk to read when I need to give my brain a break from the stack of paper glowering at me on my desk.”

      “Excellent!  Poe is a rather guilty pleasure of mine, I must admit.  So… atmospheric in his writing and what a droll selection of films have been made from his works.”

      “Corman?”

      “Do I hear the call of a fellow aficionado of the more tawdry offerings of the horror genre?”

      “HA!  How many hours did I spend as a kid watching stuff like _Tales of Terror_ and _The Raven_?  And anything out of Hammer Studios, of course.”

      “It would be unpardonable if you did not.”

      “Goes without saying.”

Was that a sparkle in the Detective Inspector’s eye?  A sparkle of, perhaps… interest?  That was something that simply begged to be explored.  Once the flotsam that passed as his brother and his brother’s lover had been dealt with, naturally.  Gregory would surely be cross if he was derelict in his duty towards family and that certainly would not do.

      “Then we are very much of like mind.  It is good to know someone who holds a proper view about such things.  Perhaps we might find the opportunity someday to discuss the issue in more detail?”

Sparkle intensifying!  Oh, this was supremely wonderful.  The delightful Detective Inspector had nibbled his bait and found it palatable!

      “Perhaps we might.  You know where to find me so… I’ll see you around sometime.”

      “I believe you shall.  Now, if you will excuse me?”

      “Absolutely, sir.  Have a good night.”

      “I will do my best.  But, do call me Mycroft.”

      “Alright, Mycroft.  But, only if you call me Greg.”

      “Will Gregory do?  I far prefer the full version, as it has a more formidable sound to the ear.”

      “Oh… well, in that case, feel free.”

      “Excellent.  Goodnight, Gregory.  I hope to see you again quite soon.”

Mycroft smiled and turned, taking out his mobile again, but this time to begin calling in a squad of unfortunates to tend to the slowly decomposing Sherlock and John.  Oh yes… the Detective Inspector would be seeing him quite soon, indeed.  Exactly as soon as was prudent so he did not appear desperate for the gorgeous man’s attention.    Which he _was_ , but that was entirely beside the point…

~~~~~

Mycroft sat straight up in bed and did something he could never before remember doing – turning off the alarm for his alarm clock.  He _never_ slept up to his alarm time!  It was more a reminder, as he was moving about in the morning, that leaving for the day was officially nearing.   This was unprecedented!  But… so was his dream.  He did not dream of such things.  Never dreamt of himself, or situations of which he might be a part.  Not that he could truly say he _had_ dreamt of himself for… that was not him!  He was not jocular!  Had no facility for banter!  Never, _ever_ , revealed any of his personal preferences and tastes!  Showed no social ease and certainly did not teeter on the perilous slope of… flirting!  That was not Mycroft Holmes!  That was…

… the man he had wished to be.  Someone who could share a jovial word with another person, especially _that_ person, and have it be an easy, comfortable thing.  Actually to engage in an enjoyable conversation with the Detective Inspector and have him find the time similarly pleasurable.  In his dream, it had not been difficult, at all.  He had simply… talked!  Pounced upon openings and teased them along to show interest and learn more about the man who appeared as handsome in his dream as he did in reality.  For the life of him, though, he could not… he could not fathom how he had accomplished such a thing!

_How_ had he interacted so successfully with Gregory?  His repertoire of skills was extremely robust, but such a thing as that was not and had never been part of his personal portfolio.  Perhaps… yes.  Yes, of course.  The incident with the book, his foolish wish… it was to be expected that his mind would craft a scenario that complemented the events of the night.  And, though it was shameful to admit, it was not the first time the Detective Inspector had figured into his dreams.  _He_ was never a part of them, though… that _was_ new, but Gregory making his slumber a more joyful experience certainly was not.  Yes, it made a strange sort of sense when one looked at it more carefully.  Simply the overheated and slightly-hopeful imaginings of an addled mind…

Mycroft quickly got out of bed and tended to his morning rituals, before finding himself opening his safe to extract the books to bring with him for inspection and found, instead, that he scarcely had the ability to move once he looked inside.  What had been a disassembled book was now… whole.  Whole and pristine, exactly as it had been before he ripped it to pieces the night before.

With the smallest tremble in his fingers, Mycroft removed the small book and carefully looked inside at the first page to find, again, his wish greeting him in a familiar hand.  Some dreadful instinct prompted him to look at the second page and, again, nearly dropped the book like it burned his fingers.  In his own infernal handwriting was a summary of his dream!  A detailed summary, with his and Gregory’s conversation scribed almost word for word!  No… no no no no no… this was impossible.  There was not a technology in existence that could know his dreams!  This could not, not in any manner, be the result of surveillance.  Not in any way, not in any form…

Mycroft dropped onto the sofa and stared dumbly at the book in his hands.  He absolutely _refused_ to believe this.  It was trickery of some form!  There had to be a trick, a subterfuge, being perpetrated on him.  He was undoubtedly the victim of a jest or a prank.  There was some sleight of hand at work… some smoke and mirrors.  This could _not_ be real!  There had to be a rational, reasonable explanation for all of this, there simply _must_!  What was he to believe… that he had been hexed?  That there was witchcraft afoot?  Balderdash!  There was an explanation to be found and, when he did, it would be a logical, though, perhaps, complicated one and the matter would be settled.

Wavering a moment, Mycroft decided to put the book back into the safe and leave it there where it could cause no mischief.  He had matters that required his attention and a ridiculous little joke was not going to interfere with his tending to business.  He certainly would not allow something so ludicrous and trivial to impact his effectiveness; it would be an utter disgrace to do so and that was not something he could allow.   As it was, he needed to pay a visit to his brother to verify his well-being and that would do its own damage to his efficiency and temper today…

__________

Oh no…

      “John!  Wanting milk for your tea is not sufficient reason for buying a cow.”

Oh no no no…

      “Hey!  Be nice to your brother, you bastard.  Got you taken care of last night, didn’t he?  None of my lads were about to step in and sort out your sorry arse.”

What was Gregory doing here?

      “Cows are _supposed_ to be helpful creatures, Lestrade.  Or is it elephants?  Regardless, Mycroft is fat.”

Here and looking inexpressibly stunning… but, mustn’t stand here stunned by his beauty and let Sherlock’s mouth continue to run like an infant chasing a lolly-carrying butterfly.

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  For your information, I simply sought to ascertain your condition after your ordeal.”

Though I shall direct my statement to the member of the couple most likely to provide an accurate and marginally-mature response.

      “He’s fine, Mycroft.  I checked him out this morning and, besides a little brain fog, which will pass, he’s going to be alright.  Regardless, I’m making him take things easy today, something _I’m_ suffering for, so if you have any spare pity you can send it my way.”

      “Thank you, Doctor Watson.  My worries are well and truly assuaged.”

      “Mine are not!  John’s plans for the day are stultifying!”

      “Shut it, you.  You’d think a quiet day of reading, for me, and films, for you, would be a welcome thing.  Cozy up under a nice blanket on the sofa, enjoy a hot cup of tea…”

      “I am not a pensioner!  Just because you require a cane to hobble with your ankle, that does not mean _I_ have catapulted into being elderly.”

      “That’s why I’m keeping the cane out of your sight and Greg brought us our entertainment.  Of course, we have to live with his idea of taste, but I’m sure, somewhere, there’s a person who’s got worse, so lucky us.”

      “You can watch yourself, too, John.  Nothing but the finest, if I do say so myself.  Sherlock’s got some mysteries to watch and you’ve got a few gems I personally endorse.  Who doesn’t like Jules Verne?  Really, they have to be dead not to think he’s tops.”

Three sets of eyes turned towards Mycroft at the sound of his umbrella hitting the floor.

      “J…Jules Verne?”

      “Oh, yes!  Read him all the time as a lad and I still pick up a copy of something by him now and then when I make a stop at the library.  Poe, too.  Never could get enough of Poe.  Have an old, dog-eared paperback I keep in my desk to read when I need to give my brain a break from the stack of paper glowering at me on my desk.”

Now it was Mycroft’s valise hitting the floor and John ran a practiced eye over the older Holmes sibling for any further signs of medical problems.

      “Mycroft… are you alright?”

      “What?  Oh, yes, John.  Thank you.  I was simply… I remembered an item of… something that requires my attention and… yes, just a small hiccough in my day’s agenda.  However, since I am reassured that neither you nor Sherlock requires any further intervention and have your own day well in hand, I should bid you farewell and continue on with my own affairs.  Detective Inspector… good day to you.”

Mycroft quickly gathered his things and beat a hasty retreat, beating it even more hastily as he heard Lestrade make his own goodbyes and follow after him.

      “Mr. Holmes!”

Since running away looked exactly like… running away, Mycroft slowed his pace, stopped and turned to give Lestrade his most placid and composed expression.

      “Detective Inspector?”

      “Just… just checking again everything was alright, sir.  Hope my literary tastes didn’t give you a fright.”

Oh, do not smile at me that way, Gregory.  It is entirely too beautiful and enticing and I am far too mentally compromised at the moment to properly enjoy it.  What in heaven’s name was going on?  This… none of this was possible… ah, yes.  Gregory’s face was now showing worry.  Must answer the question or appear even more deficient.

      “Not at all…”

Should he… perhaps he could manage just a small pleasantry to demonstrate he truly was not suffering some neurological debilitation.

      “… in fact, I find both writers highly enjoyable, Verne being a particular favorite of mine.”

There… the seas did not boil and the skies did not fall.  A miracle had occurred.

      “Really?  That’s good to know.  Really good, in fact, because he’s definitely a favorite of mine, too.  And, sometimes I worry that nobody even remembers the amazing old stuff anymore.  Same with films.  All the great old films fading into memory.”

Was it… dare he tempt fate a second time?  Fate had never looked kindly upon him, thereby teaching him to rely on himself and ignore her entirely, however… it _was_ a chance to discern how deep this particular phantasmagoria did go…

      “Have you, perhaps… I know it is likely a futile question, but I believe there are several, rather…lighter-fare film offerings for, at least in nod to, Poe’s tales.  Terribly tawdry things, but, they had their hey-day once upon a time.”

      “HA!  How many hours did I spend as a kid watching stuff like _Tales of Terror_ and _The Raven_?  And anything out of Hammer Studios, of course.  Those were brilliant!  Love them, just love them.  I’d be in front of the  telly having a great time watching those old things whenever they came on.  I’m surprised you know about those, though.  Did some laying in front of the telly when you were a lad, too, did you?”

Voodoo!  Or… Wicca or a wormhole or… who knows what!  Oh, how could this be?  How in the name of fundamental principles of science and reality could this be?  It could _not_ be and that was precisely the problem!  And what was he going to do about it?

      “O……k.  Not a belly and telly boy.  I’m not surprised.  A sofa sort of fellow, instead?  More comfortable, probably…”

Apparently, what he was going to do was ignore Gregory, _again_ , and demonstrate that he could not manage an affable conversation if his damned life depended upon it!

      “I must, again, beg your pardon, Detective Inspector.  I have a myriad of issues in my mind at the moment and, occasionally, there is a traffic collision and I must take a moment to, shall we say, clear the roadways.”

      “Not a problem, sir.  Just glad to know I wasn’t being a bother.  So… I suppose you need to get back to work.”

      “Yes, I am rather overdue, actually.”

Which you will now believe is your fault because I am a social cretin and should not be allowed to talk to anyone of consequence, saving my dribbling syllables for politicians and other riffraff.

      “Oh… sorry about that.  Well, I won’t keep you any further.  Have a good day, sir.”

Do call me Mycroft.

      “And you as well, Detective Inspector.

You failure.  Now, scurry away in shame to your car and make certain not to make eye contact with the breathtaking man who was sufficiently worried about you that he chased you down to make inquiries about your welfare.  Dolt.  You are a clot and a dolt and a dunce.  A clonce.  Verily, you deserve your own nomenclatural designation.  Well, at least your cloncy performance with Gregory subdued your mental dissolution over your other pressing situation.  The one that seems to have rended reality asunder.  This was not what one would term a good day…

__________

Lestrade watched the large, dark sedan pull away and scratched his head while he thought about the last several minutes.  Progress!  That was definitely progress.  They’d had a good few seconds there of real conversation, even though it seemed to be a bit like pulling teeth, on Mycroft’s part.  But, that was ok.  Not everyone was a waggly-tongue; _he_ wasn’t usually, except when he was trying to get a little something going with someone who was worth getting something going with.  Then his tongue could get _very_ waggly, and he didn’t even mean than in a porno sort of way.  Ok… the next time their paths crossed, there would be a little more waggle if he had his chance and maybe Mr. Holmes might unclench just a tad more and waggle back a bit.  Well, a bit _more_ because… progress!  Definite, oh-yes-it-counts progress… this was what one call a very good day…


	3. Chapter 3

Pointing out that Mycroft Holmes was off his game was likely the quickest way to find one’s self beheaded, so the various individuals with whom the man in question interacted after his visit to 221B wisely kept silent, though a knowing nod raced through the building when the unimaginable occurred – Mr. Holmes left early for the day.

For his part, Mycroft had never known his mind to be so utterly useless!  His mental faculties verged on… normal… and that was a nauseating thing to contemplate.  Finally, there had been no choice but to scurry away to salvage what little remained of his dignity and hope that he could pull together the loose threads of his mind and reweave his intellectual potency.

Of course, this put him squarely back in his home where _it_ resided.  That accursed book!  How dare it exert influence on him!  Discombobulating his life in a highly uncharitable manner and… what was it doing?  _Was_ it doing anything or was he simply descending into an insidious madness that only he would know until it drove him into the streets in his underpants proclaiming the End of Days?  Well, at least his underpants were of the finest quality and his voice was well-practiced and perfectly-timbered for such a portentous declaration.

No, Mycroft would not admit to peeking into his study as if worried the devil was enjoying his hospitality, nor would he admit to being somewhat disappointed the fiend was not, for that would give him the chance to have a stern word with the man about a few matters that bore discussion.  However, the room was entirely clear of any visible demonic influences, his various safes were seemingly undisturbed and no cursed books were pirouetting on his sofa table.  Most importantly, his decanter was well-provided with whisky and that prompted Mycroft to step across the threshold and begin the process of trying to purge the anarchy from his life.

Not that he had any idea of how to accomplish the task.  His dream was certainly not a re-creation of events, but, it had been a glimpse into what _could_ have been had he simply… taken the step of acting on his desires.  Just a few shared words with someone with whom he would dearly _love_ to share a few words.  Rather like today.  Where words shared in his dream were manifest in reality.   Verbatim.  However, there were others, new and fresh, spoken by his wakeful self, that were not entirely stilted and standoffish.  He was certainly not the raconteur of his dream, but he did… he made Gregory smile.  Touched a tiny topic and saw it connect with gladdening results.

Why was it so difficult, though?  Murderously difficult, at that.  The only way by which it had happened today was that… he had insider information.  Had a rather unnatural knowledge that he had tested and found to be sound.  Which was sufficiently disturbing on its own, however… Gregory’s face had brightened like the rising sun and it had been a joyful thing to bask in his radiance, if only for a handful of moments.  Though, if he had been a bolder man, it could have been for _more_ than a paltry handful of moments.  Gregory’s signals were in no manner disguised… he would have welcomed continuing their discussion, even though it touched on no matter of importance.  Or, perhaps, that was the point.  It was a discussion that had no meaning besides the enjoyment of each other’s company.

Mycroft took another look around his study and thought about the fact that he actually adored this space.  It was warm and comfortable.  The one room in his home, besides his bedroom, that was purely for his pleasure.  Quiet, with rich, soothing tones and the ever-present fire burning in the hearth.  The Detective Inspector would appreciate this room.  He would find it inviting and gladly sip a glass of fine spirits, while relaxing on the sofa, perhaps with a good book in hand.  Gregory had said that was an excellent manner in which to spend an evening, did he not?  This room was designed just for that and… it was a foolish daydream, but the room could easily accommodate _two_ for a quiet and pleasant evening, if such a thing was on offer.

But, daydreams were just that.  They were _not_ reality and Gregory would never be found relaxing here, with his smile brighter than the fire.  The Detective Inspector had far more invigorating ways to spend his time and far more invigorating people with whom to socialize.   Individuals of similar vitality and humor.  Individuals who were not him.  There, that was the truth of the matter and it might as well be carved into the tablets of Moses.  A few collegial words did not _anything_ make, pleasurable though they be.  Now, it was time to turn attention away from the foolhardiness of his woolgathering and towards the… what to term the rather unique and unbelievable situation in which he had found himself?  Really, he had no idea, but… when in  doubt, add further information to one’s portfolio.

Placing a quick call for a car to be delivered post haste, Mycroft carefully opened his safe and slowly removed the small book, checking again for any sign of its secrets, then dropped the volume into his pocket and made a brief stop in his kitchen for a cool drink before meeting his car at the curb.  Time to take this question to the source…

__________

_Where was the source!_

Mycroft had the driver circle the block again and it still failed to conjure the bookshop from where it had hidden on their first pass.  No, that was not true… there _was_ a bookshop in the space where had had purchased the devil’s tome, however, it was entirely the incorrect one!  The signage was wrong, the  shopfront was different… this required investigation.

_The investigation was a disaster!_

The elderly woman who sat behind the till was in no manner helpful and pleasant.  He’d experienced a more acceptable level of service during a hostage negotiation!  Not only did she have no knowledge of the proprietor he had met, extracting the information had veered very closely to the implementation of marginally-legal interrogation tactics as the crone seemed to believe that providing even the sparest form of assistance was an indecent act.  And her book selection was decidedly sub-par.

Walking back to his car, Mycroft stopped in at the adjacent shops to make inquiries, none of which bore fruit beyond a further helping of confusion and irritation.  The bookshop had been held in a single hand for years, decades even and that hand was the wretched one that had thumbed him out of the front door just minutes ago.  No, there was no short-term lease, no redecoration and, certainly, no higher-end merchandise on offer.  Very well… there was another avenue to pursue…

_The avenue was barren!_

How… how could there be no evidence against his hallucination!  Nothing, not a tax record, documentation of maintenance, a business license… nothing that failed to align with the shop’s current identity.  And he had been very clear with his staff about the depth to which the investigation should go, so if nothing could be found, there was nothing to be had.  This was… oh, why was he surprised.  This miasma of confoundment was well and truly impenetrable.  How had he stumbled into this quagmire?  Caught like a sabertooth in a black and unyielding tar pit.  That was a bit theatrical.  His thought processes were compromised in the most unacceptable fashion!  That was nearly Sherlock-like and such would not be tolerated.

Signaling the driver to start for home, Mycroft took mental inventory of his spirits stocks and wondered if he could become sufficiently intoxicated that he would drop into a deep sleep and avoid any further perturbations of his day.  Or night.  He was quite done with perturbations and most willing to let the current troupe dance off into Neverland to find another victim with whom to frolic.  This experience would be consigned to the deepest recesses of his mind and layered over with as many budget reports and economic analyses as he could find.  Scorch the proverbial earth with material so dreary and dull that he would not have desire, let alone reason, to ever spare a single visit to that portion of his consciousness.  Yes, that was quite the ticket.  A few hearty drinks, perhaps some non-Verne reading to pass the time until unconsciousness landed like an armload of bricks onto his skull.  A stellar plan, which, really, was certainly his forte…

~~~~~

      “Ah, Mr. Holmes… have you already depleted your reading material?”

      “Perish the thought.  And, if I had, there would be the countless re-readings each book would enjoy through the years.”

      “A delightful sentiment!  What then brings you back to my humble shop?”

      “A gift, actually.  For a gentleman who shares my appreciation of a quality book.”

      “A worthy fellow, then, I am certain.  What might you have in mind?”

      “Poe, if you can accommodate me.”

      “Without doubt.  Any particular requirements?”

      “As frivolous as it sounds, something handsome.  A tome with gravitas.  However, not something that would appear unseemly if the recipient learned the cost.”

      “I understand completely, sir.  And I believe I have just the thing.  Follow me a moment… and…. ah.  Yes, here we are.  _Tales of Mystery and Imagination_ with the Harry Clarke illustrations, including the later colored plates.  Not a significant edition, but extremely possessed of presence, large and with a feeling of note in one’s hand.  Please, have a look.”

Mycroft took the volume and felt the familiar hum of consequence he experienced when holding a special book.  This was surely an edition created purely for the holiday market, but it would be the perfect thing for a man who would undoubtedly want to read it and do so somewhat vigorously, spending copious amounts of time studying the remarkable illustrations.  Gregory would adore it…

      “I believe this is the perfect thing.  Truly you have a nose for your merchandise.”

      “I do try.  Now, shall I gift wrap this for you?”

      “Hmmmm….”

      “I see.  This is a gift that you, perhaps, are not eager to make obvious that it is a gift.”

      “That is not an inaccurate manner of stating the situation.”

      “Something casual.  The fortuitous finding of something you thought would enjoy a new and appreciative home.”

      “The very thing.”

      “Then you shall have a bag and not another adornment.  Now, is there anything else with which I might help you?”

      “Not today, though I do hope I might stop again another time to browse.”

      “Most assuredly, sir.  You know where to find us and we do welcome the business.”

~~~~~

Damnation!!!  Could not even a gluttonous amount of whisky give him peace?  All it apparently could provide was the need to interrupt his, admittedly, unrestful sleep with the need to urinate.  Hellfire, damnation and perdition…

~~~~~

      “Mycroft!  Fancy seeing you here!  I wasn’t sure you knew where the useless coppers hid in wait for a summons?”

      “New Scotland Yard is on the various tourist maps, Detective Inspector, and I do study those with some interest.”

      “For places to avoid.”

      “Precisely.  However, today found me in the area and I thought it an opportune time to see with my own eyes what Sherlock considers his home away from home.  Or would that be the morgue?”

      “Probably the latter.  Molly is happy to make him tea, so it’s like having John nearby, just with breasts, darker hair and the actual milk of human kindness.”

      “Yes, the fact that Ms. Hooper is actually on Sherlock’s approved proximity list is a most telling thing.”

      “Well, shall I give you a tour?  We can start with my office, which you can see is a marvel of efficiency.  This stack of papers are the ones that got separated from their folders so I have no idea what they’re on about.  This pile of little notes is phone calls that I forgot to write names down for so they’re happy mysteries.  That stain was yesterday’s lunch.  Did you know humans can actually make an edible version of flame?  Well, if you want to have it investigated for weapons purposes, I can tell you the curry shop I ordered from.  Absolutely fantastic, but I’m not certain I’ve still got my intestines anymore.”

      “I will certainly gain the name of the establishment from you for I have a rather healthy taste for spicier offerings.  And it is with great regret that I must decline for your offer of a tour, beyond your splendidly-efficient office, of course, though I shall not rule it out for a future time.  Actually, I was on my way to other matters when I stopped for a bit of browsing and ran across this.  Really, after our last conversation, I could not resist.  I do hope you find it as delightful as did I.”

Reaching into his coat, Mycroft removed his prize and handed it over to Lestrade whose eyes widened seeing the book.

      “Please say you will accept it, Gregory.  I cannot bear seeing such a lovely thing in less than a truly appreciative home.”

      “This… this is amazing!  Got a good heft to it, doesn’t it?  And… oh… these are brilliant!  I’ve seen these drawings before.  The library near where I lived as a boy had a copy like this but it was a disaster!  Spine loose, pages had some staining, some taped together because they’d been torn… probably a donation, but it was the best thing in the world!  I mean, look at that! You can stare at that illustration for hours and still find something new.  Just gorgeous… really, I can have this?”

      “I would be most disappointed if you refused.  Consider, who better to treat this book in the manner it deserves?”

      “That’s true.  It could be had by someone who would buy this for their kid to have a go at with crayons.  Or, worse, one of those idiots who turn down corners to mark a page.”

      “Barbarians.”

      “Exactly.  I will happily accept this, Mycroft.  Can I pay you for it?”

      “The price was not worth your wage for the moments it would take to rummage through your pockets for the requisite amount.”

      “Then I’ll thank you for the gift.  This is a grand thing and I will definitely give it a good home.”

      “Excellent.  Then, as they say, my work here is done.”

      “Got a full day ahead of you, even though it’s half over already?”

      “Something with which, I am certain, you have great familiarity.”

      “More than I care to admit.  But, here… hope you can read my writing… name of my favorite place for a killer curry.  They do deliver, so you can sob, sniff and scream in the privacy of your own home.”

      “A strong selling point and I thank you for it.  It is too often that I am forced to take my meals at some uninspired restaurant where it is far more important to be seen than to enjoy one’s food and I cherish the times I can indulge in a well-prepared and flavorful meal.”

      “Glad to be of help.  Next time you stop by, I’ll reveal my secret for the city’s best Greek.”

      “I am most intrigued.  I know the Greek Ambassador’s endorsement, but I would very much enjoy making the comparison.”

      “Then you shall.  Off to work with you, Mr. Holmes.  Keep the invaders away from the Palace and we’ll talk meze.”

      “I happily accept the challenge.”

      “Great!  And, thanks again, Mycroft. This is a wonderful book and I’m very glad you thought about me for it.”

      “It was truly my pleasure, Gregory.  Until later?”

      “Absolutely.”

~~~~~

Mycroft slammed his hand down on his alarm clock so hard he had to check that he hadn’t left the device a pile of debris.  Villainous contraption!  A fine match for his villainous brain which simply could not leave well enough alone and had to continue his dream and lead it into an area… Gregory was simply breathtaking when he was engaged in his work.  Dedicated, commanding… positively a joy to behold.  Which, of course, explained why his mind liked to dwell upon his visage.  And his muscular chest.  To say nothing of the man’s stunning hair…  He sounded like a besotted teenager.  Ridiculous, traitorous, subconscious… dangling the Detective Inspector before his mind’s eye and laughing at his infatuated response.  Well, there would be a painfully mindless film on offer soon as penance.  The suffering would be profound…

Mycroft tended to his morning rituals and pointedly ignored his study until he had to acknowledge the pointed, and resoundingly cowardly, ignoring, and strode into the room to begin opening his safe.  Which he quickly wished he hadn’t.  Last night’s dream was dutifully transcribed with as much detail as had been the previous.  This was intolerable!  He had hoped… for what, in truth, he did now know, but, something!  Some break of this pattern.  A return to normalcy.  What would it take to break the grip of whatever this was and restore his life to… his life.

Paying the Detective Inspector a visit… what presumption!  However, his dream Gregory seemed happy for the action.  And the bestowing of a gift… could he be more forward?  He could not do that if he tried!  His piteous lie was even far outside of his ability… seeing something and acting on the knowledge that it would be treasured by another.  Even his brother could accomplish such a thing, having just last week, purchased for John a ticket to a museum exhibition of military regalia of twentieth-century wars.  Of course, he only purchased a single ticket, but there _was_ some thought there that could not be denied.

What could also not be denied was his own inability to take such a step.  Oh, he could find many an appropriate gift for Gregory, but to present it?  To have it be a casual, friendly thing speaking only to the idea that the recipient had been thought about during the day.  Attempting such would surely end in a firestorm of disaster that would consume the planet and leave behind nothing but ash.  Ridiculous… his dreams were patently ridiculous and, hopefully, this nonsense would soon come to an end.  At this point, he didn’t even care if he solved the mystery of this bewitched book!  Let it be an unexplained phenomenon that would add a dab of color to his otherwise grey life…

__________

If one took every politician that existed in the expanse of territory termed London and laid them end to end… they would be much easier to feed into a thresher where they would certainly be blown out over the countryside with the remainder of the macerated chaff.  What a loathsome morning… already his temper was short and the meandering natterings of blowhards and dunderheads did not help matters in the least.  Now, it was a short respite until his next series of meetings, which, hopefully, would be a gentler assault to his composure…

As the car moved through the streets towards Mycroft’s office, his eye was caught by something that very much piqued his interest.  It was rare he had the time and, rarer still, that he had the inclination, but given the sullying in recent days of his love for books, by foul and nefarious… something, this could be an opportunity to salvage some of the former luster.  In his youth, he had often made a stop at the various jumble sales that erupted whenever a local organization decided a fundraiser was in order and, on more than a few occasions, walked away with a true gem in his hands.  Even if no gems were to be found, simple reading copies of books that caught his eye would make their way into his pockets to help while away the time.  And here, at one of the small churches that peeked out of the landscape now and then, was a prime example.  Books were even advertised as a highlighted item!  And a church… no bedevilment to worry about in a church.  Devils and witches did appear to be Christian folk and follow closely the various bits of lore, so he might actually browse in peace.

Alighting from the car and bidding the drive find a space to park and wait, Mycroft strolled past the small gate at the front of the church and was transported back decades to when digging through boxes was not quite as off-putting an action as it was now.  And there was a delectable number present, which, combined with the low attendance at this time of day, made for a very promising hunt.

Oh, yes… the standard plethora of paperbacks, popular novels, cookbooks and long out-of-date textbooks that might hold academic interest to someone in the field.  But, there… farther back was his quarry.  The books bound in more interesting materials, with titles written in fading gold leaf on the spine.  The ones with papery covers decorated with exquisite Art Deco script or the venerable fonts of earlier times.  Yes… some very old friends were represented here and he might, just might find himself leaving with a few additions to his personal collection.  And wasn’t it nice that the boxes of books were…actually…stacked…  No.  No… this could not be.  Did the basement of this structure host the meeting room of a local coven?  It was not possible… it was simply not possible…

Mycroft removed the top book of the box he had just unearthed and stared at it with an unnamable feeling in his chest.  The Poe.  _Tales of Mystery and Imagination_.   With the Harry Clarke illustrations.  The same edition, _exactly_ the same  edition, that he had purchased and presented in his dream.  Even… NO!  Even the minute scuff at the bottom corner was the same!

With shaking hands, Mycroft looked for something, an inscription or book plate, to identify the former owner, but there was nothing.  Not a thing to link the book to anyone who might be able to help him understand!  This was unreal.  This simply could not be real.  There had to be…

      “Mr. Holmes?  Well, fancy meeting you here, sir.”

Gregory.  There _had_ to be Gregory…


	4. Chapter 4

Composure.  Maintain composure at all costs.

      “Yes, Detective Gregory… Inspector!  Detective Inspector, yes, it is most surprising to find you here.  Why are you not at your desk?  I mean, what brings you here this fine early-afternoon?

When the awards committee for the International Drivel Society presented him his honorarium, he would accept it both humbly and gratefully.

      “Same as you, I suspect.  Happened to be passing by and saw a brilliant way to spend a few minutes.  I love these things!  It’s like going on a treasure hunt, isn’t it?  Sometimes, all you dig up is sand, but other times you strike gold.  See!  Already have an armload of lovelies to read for the next few weeks and I’m not even out five quid.  What about you?”

No, please do not look, Gregory, for I have no wish to tumble again down the rabbit hole.

      “What… that’s fantastic!  Hah!  We were just talking about Poe!  Infected you, did I?  Oh, and that’s a beauty.  Would you… would you mind if I looked at it?”

Perhaps the Mad Hatter has a spare place set at the table for tea.

      “Of course, Detective Inspector.  Please, be my guest.”

Lestrade set down his stack of books and carefully took the Poe from Mycroft, as the older Holmes watched with an aching understanding, the delicacy with which the DI handled the volume and the bright and excited smile he wore while he turned the pages.

      This… this is amazing!  Got a good heft to it, doesn’t it?  And… oh… these are brilliant!  I’ve seen these drawings before.  The library near where I lived as a boy had a copy like this but it was a disaster!  Spine loose, pages had some staining, some taped together because they’d been torn… probably a donation, but it was the best thing in the world!  I mean, look at that! You can stare at that illustration for hours and still find something new.”

Gregory’s eyes were always breathtaking, but when they were alight with wonder… they were indescribable…

      “Yes, it is a handsome tome.”

Does anyone perhaps have a spill for which they require something dry for its absorption?  If so, please take my last sentence and make better use of it than did I.

      “I’ll say it is.  Gorgeous, really.  And that’s before you even get to the stories!  You found your gold today, Mr. Holmes.  My sincere congratulations on this wonderful prize.”

How dearly Gregory loved this book.  How dearly he loved to lose himself in the written word.  Now, repeat after me… ‘I was rather thinking it would prefer leaving with you, Detective Inspector, for a book such as this deserves the most appreciative of homes and I cannot imagine anyone better capable of appreciating its worth than you.’

      “Thank you, it was certainly a fortuitous discovery.”

You are a disgrace on both a collegial and communicative front.  Twice the disgrace for one flaccid phrasing.  Truly, you have a bold and abiding talent in this area.

      “And that’s why we stop at these sorts of things, right?  Next time, it’ll be me finding the buried treasure, just you watch.  So… how has your day been, Mr. Holmes?  This a celebration or a reward for making it through the morning without giving anyone a good knock?”

You are officially on alert.  Gregory is attempting to make conversation and prolong the duration of your proximity.  If you fail to capitalize on the situation and respect his efforts towards conviviality, then you will forfeit every carton of gelato in your kitchen and suffer its lack on the grocery order for a fortnight!

      “Neither, it was simply a passing whim.”

Inconceivable!  And it is in no manner a justified benefit that you will lose a pound or two of weight from your loss of your precious gelato.  Perhaps a better punishment is the consumption of fully a delivery-truck full of the flavor you most despise so you grow to the size of said delivery truck and Sherlock can roll you down the street with a stick like an urchin playing some form of game in a quasi-Dickensian novel of absolutely no literary merit whatsoever.

      “Oh… hey!  That’s the best reason, sometimes!  Get taken by a little whimsy and see where it leads you.  Just like taking a chance on a book you’ve never read or a film you’ve never seen.”

      “I suppose one could say that, yes.”

I mentally spit upon our person.

      “One could at that.  So… anything interesting for the rest of the day?”

Gregory is handing you chance after chance… do grab hold of at least one before… before he forever ceases to try.

      “Unfortunately, nothing that I am capable of sharing.”

Was your chance-grabbing hand paralyzed in some unremembered accident?  Press the other one into service, clodpate, and salvage this fiasco!  Oh, Gregory is speaking…

      “I understand that.  Man in your position can’t divulge all those state secrets to any old copper off the street.  I meant besides that.  I have a date, for instance, and am insanely anxious for it.”

WHAT!  No!  No no no no no no no no no… No, by decree of me, this shall not occur.  Not that I have any say in the matter, of course, but in the kingdom of my mind, facts and truths are irrelevant.  Shall we, instead, simply agree that any such spending of time is solely at my discretion and, concomitantly, ignore the shamefully possessive and inappropriate leanings of my sentiment, so that my blood pressure remains marginally in the non-lethal zone for the time being?

      “D…date?”

      “Absolutely.  A date with the handsomest Detective Inspector London has to offer, in his fine flat, with the hottest, tastiest Thai food one could hope to eat.  Best part is, I don’t even have to get dressed up since I don’t mind seeing myself in all my barefooted glory.”

Gregory Lestrade!  There shall be no tomfoolery in the matter of romantic entanglements!  Have you already forgotten about my blood pressure!

      “Oh… I see.  It was a jest.”

      “A little one.  But, it’s also partially true.  The number of nights I can just relax with some quality takeaway, a bit of passable beer and a film or book to fill the time is fairly small, so this feels very much like a date with myself.  And why not?  Show myself a nice relaxing time after a hard day’s work; have to see those batteries recharged somehow.  What about you?  Nice quiet night waiting for you at home?”

And another chance!  How many more can Gregory throw to you before his arm tires and he is unable to lift even a pencil to scribe an address for a cab to take his depleted body back to his paper-laden desk?

      “The possibility exists, though I am never fully unavailable for matters of work.”

NO!  Do better!  For all that is holy, do better than that!

      “However… I am hopeful for some time to devote to relaxation and, as you say, a restoration of energies.”

Marginal.  If your response was a school essay it would be handed back to you with copious corrective notes from the instructor, while they tutted and shook their head disappointedly at your performance.  It was _not_ , though, a failure.  There was… smile.

      “Don’t I understand that!  You’re just settling in to something comfortable and cozy and your fuck… oops!... stupid mobile rings and shatters your comfortable and cozy into a million pieces.  Full sympathy for that one, Mr. Holmes.”

How masterfully could Gregory take even the most tepid of statements and build upon it something that both demonstrated interest in your conversation and left the door open wide for furthering the discussion.  How did he do that?  What was the algorithm he had devised to make social discourse an easy thing?  In truth, it _was_ an easy thing, if he did not have a care for the person with whom he was conversing, but here… torture was a simpler thing to endure and he had the unfortunate experience to speak as an expert on the subject.

      “Yes, in your position, I would suppose the same would often be true...”

There’s more in your head than that, so open your mouth and see if any of it wishes to fly and be free.

      “… It is amusing, is it not, how we strive for promotion in our youth, believing, perhaps, there is a greater leisure to be found, in addition to the enriched salary?”

      “HAH!  Oh, you hit that one right on the nose.  I remember when I was a PC, I envied all the inspectors, standing around and letting us young lads chase after things and do the dirty work.  Now, there are definitely some days I’d swap chasing down some burglar with staying at my desk until dead o’clock in the morning finishing up paperwork.”

Success!  A positive response and a further ten seconds of engagement with Gregory!  You are on, as they say, a roll.  Allow momentum to be your ally!

      “I believe there is an expression… the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence?”

      “Exactly.  We’re a bunch of ungrateful bastards who always need something to moan about.”

Oh dear lord.  That was not… a giggle?  A giggle did _not_ pass these lips.  Did it not see the sign put in place at age nine that expressly forbid the eruption of giggles in public!  Why were there no dinosaur-destroying meteors impacting the earth when they were truly needed!  Oh.  Oh… Gregory was giggling, too.  It was the soundtrack for the birth of the universe…

      “Listen to me go on… if we didn’t have things to moan about we’d all be bored out of our skulls.”

Should you?  You have already thought the words and they seem _marginally_ witty…

      “True, but you do have your dates with yourself to help pass the time.”

That was not a giggle.  That was full-throated laughter at the most tentative attempt at humor in the existence of jocularity.  This was unprecedented!

      “I was thinking ahead and didn’t even know it!  Oh, that’s brilliant… there’s my day made.”

      “I am pleased to be of assistance…”

Do you see it?  That bright beacon of redemption beckoning you forward?  The stars have aligned to reward you for scratching back some paltry salvation and have set for you a chance to earn just a mote more.  Gregory would adore taking possession of the Poe…

      “… and, given your exemplary demonstration of forethought, is it right that…”

The small clearing of the throat alerted Mycroft that they were no longer alone and he felt his standard manner fall back into place with almost a painful snap as he nodded to his driver and handed him the appropriate sum to give to the woman overseeing the jumble sale’s money box.

      “Ah.  Yes, I must depart.”

Lestrade blinked at the profound, yet almost-invisible shift in Mycroft’s tone and expression, which was as aloof and disinterested as it was… well, as it was _most_ of the time he spoke with Sherlock’s brother.  Where that bit of thaw had gone was anyone’s guess.

      “Yeah… busy, busy, busy.  I understand that.  Well, ummm… it was nice talking to you, sir.  Hope…uh… hope you have a good afternoon.”

A knife taken to the chest would not hurt as much as the hesitancy in Gregory’s voice and the disappointment that had dulled the brightness of his smile.

      “You as well, Detective Inspector.”

As Mycroft’s mind donned steel-toed boots to begin kicking him to death from the inside, what few cells remained loyal to him made one final attempt to appear something other than… horrid.

      “Oh, Detective Inspector… one moment.”

Please do not look so worried, Gregory.  I know I have given you reason to believe I am an upsettingly changeable man, but you are the last person on Earth, save Sherlock, who has anything to fear from me.

      “You did mention that you were dining on Thai cuisine tonight and I find that I might have a taste for such myself.  Would you be willing to part with the name of the restaurant in question?”

To someone who could buy it with their pocket change?  Sorry, Mr. Holmes, not a chance.

      “It’s not really your sort of place, sir.  Fast, cheap food for working people, though they do a fantastic job of it.  I’d… I’d better pay for my books and get back to work, myself, actually.  Enjoy your Poe.  Sir.”

Mycroft swallowed hard as Lestrade turned to pick up his stack of books and hustle off to square his bill.  His dream self, his more affable and confident self, had gotten the name of the restaurant and promise of more.  His real self, his awkward and appearance-conscious self, won none of that.  And Gregory won not the book he prized.  Truly, this was a disaster on all fronts and there was not a direction in which the finger of blame could be pointed but directly at his supercilious face.

Stalking to the car with a look on said supercilious face that made the driver recalculate their route so they traveled the streets least likely to do anything to irritate his passenger, Mycroft shoved himself into the car and sat there, stroking his new book for any comfort it might feel sufficiently magnanimous to provide.  It had been going well!  Somewhat well, at least.  At barest minimum, he clearly had witnessed enjoyment on Gregory’s face and that was one of his most fondly-held dreams.  To be someone who could make the Detective Inspector happy and enjoy the time they spent together, even if was but time spent in conversation.  Oh well… there was nothing for it now.  He had been shown, in grim detail, the price of failure and never let it be said that Mycroft Holmes did not learn from his experiences.  Had he followed the path laid out for him, Gregory would not be walking away now, with his body language speaking volumes about the outcome of their meeting.

Which was… it was a shameful thing, but this was definitely evidence that the Detective Inspector was not pleased with the turn of events.  Which meant a _different_ turn of events was what he had desired.  And, one does not experience malaise over a conversation with someone unless that conversation has some degree of importance.  Since this was not a matter of work, the importance had to be of a _personal_ nature.  That was… encouraging.  No, that was not precisely the correct word because little could be called encouraging after his dismal showing this  afternoon, however… it did hint that he might not be as alone in his hopefulness for a more… familiar… relationship between them.  If that was the case, then this afternoon was all the more tragic, but he would not, _could_ not, let that dishearten him to the point where he walked past any other opportunity he might have to make matters right.  That was now his mission.  Locate an opportunity to reconcile with Gregory and demonstrate that he was _not_ as taciturn a creature as the one who left their conversation with a dyspeptic scowl upon his face.  Locate… or fabricate… so long as it happened, it didn’t really matter which, now did it?

__________

      “Oh, this is just what I needed.  Sherlock’s completely off his head today and one lovely fresh pint is the perfect thing to blur that agony into something far more pleasant.”

Good to know he wasn’t the only one in the city with a Holmes brother problem.  John did look a tad frazzled…

      “What he’s done this time?”

      “Know that new jacket I bought?”

      “The nice leather one you ran across in the second-hand shop that actually fit and didn’t hang down around your knees?”

      “Shut it, you.  Just because the last few I tried on were a _tiny_ bit long doesn’t mean I’m a little chimp boy.”

      “Of course not.  A chimp’s got long arms and those jackets would have fit fine, unlike what really happened and you basically flapped about with half-empty sleeves.”

      “I am officially not remembering any of that.  What I _will_ remember, though, is having lunch in that place where they proudly handed you the menu and pointed out the discounts for old gents.”

      “That _was_ fairly discouraging, but I saved a few quid and that bought us coffee later, so I didn’t shed too many tears.  Anyway, about the jacket…”

      “Right!  Sherlock decided to test the burn rate of leather and, further, decided my ‘pittance paid’ jacket was the perfect test medium.”

      “Bastard.  You should make him go off to one of those ridiculous shops he gets his clothes from, where you pay a week’s wages for a pair of socks, and have him buy you another one.  Or better yet, have one made.  A bespoke leather jacket is really the least he can do for you for… being himself.”

      “That’s not a bad idea.  I’ll think it over while I drown my sorrows.  Thanks for ringing me, though.  I thought this was your night to celebrate your lack of social life.”

      “It was, actually.  It’s just… look, can I talk to you about something and rely on you to keep it to yourself?”

      “Are you dying?”

      “No!”

      “Then, ok.  If you were dying, I would feel duty-bound to tell Sherlock so he could put a RESERVED tag on your corpse, but anything else stays between you and me.”

      “Funny.  Maybe this isn’t a good idea…”

John narrowed his eyes and took a real look at his friend, noticing for the first time that Lestrade honestly seemed to have something on his mind.  Alright, fun and games were over…

      “No, it is.  What’s wrong, Greg and I promise this _will_ stay a private conversation.”

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his neck, trying to decide if ‘wrong’ was the right word to describe the situation.

      “It’s… how well do you know Sherlock’s brother?”

Now _that_ was unexpected and John honestly wasn’t sure how to answer.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Just what I said.”

      “That really didn’t help.”

      “Ugh… look, what’s your impression of him?”

      “Of Mycroft?  Well, he has me kidnapped when it strikes his fancy, swans in and out of the flat whenever he wants something, sends Sherlock into a snit faster than daytime telly…”

      “That’s not useful!”

      “Useful for what!”

      “Useful for…”

Lestrade flailed his hands around and hoped John had magically gained the power to read nonsensical and haphazard gestures.

      “Is there a bee in here?”

Apparently he hadn’t.

      “No.  I’m just… ok, here’s the thing.  You know how Mycroft is, right?  Like one of those sophisticates in a silent movie?”

What?

      “What?  That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.”

      “Not true, consider who you live with.”

      “Yeah, you have me there.”

      “Let me try this again.”

      “I wish you would because I’m ready to order something stronger than lager if you’re going to talk about Mycroft with words like sophisticate.”

      “What’s wrong with sophisticate?”

      “Mycroft’s what’s wrong with sophisticate.”

      “I think you need to explain that, mate.”

John leaned back a little at the tone in Lestrade’s voice and felt a tiny three-watt bulb go on in his brain that he desperately tried to cover up with thoughts of Sherlock’s murder for destroying his jacket.  When that failed and the bulb grew brighter, he motioned to the server and mouthed ‘double scotch please’ before feeling ready to address his slightly-glaring friend.

      “Greg… and I’m not going to judge, so be honest with me… are you feeling me out for… maybe information about Mycroft?”

      “What the fuck else do you think I’m doing, you stupid doctor!”

      “Don’t yell in the nice pub and listen to me again… are you feeling me out for information about _Myyyycroft_?”

      “Is there a reason you said that like a ten year old?”

      “Because, apparently, that’s the only way you understand my meaning.  Greg… are you… interested… in Mycroft?”

      “Of course not!”

      “Want to try that again and not make it so obviously a lie?”

      “Yeah.  That was rubbish, wasn’t it?”

      “No argument from me.  But… getting back to the topic at hand… _really_?”

      “I don’t know.  Or I _do_ know, but I…  it’s stupid, isn’t it?  Just a stupid idea.”

      “Hold on… stupid’s a harsh word.  I was just surprised, that’s all.  You’ve never said anything before.”

      “I never gave it any serious thought before.  Un-serious thought, yes, but I never believed it might have a chance to go anywhere.”

      “And now you do?  Did… did something happen?”

      “No.  Yes.  I thought so, but…”

      “Ok… I’m hoping that rules out anything physical or I’m going to officially declare myself worried.”

      “It’s nothing like that.  I… well, I always try to chat him up when we cross paths.  Nothing flirty, just a bit of conversation to get to know him better.  With all of Sherlock’s issues, we’ve got a history of bumping into each other and… I just wanted to be able to carry on an actual conversation while things sorted themselves out.  Mostly, I fail and he gives me one-word answers while checking his mobile every few moments, but lately… lately I’ve gotten more out of him.  Maybe not a lot more, but something.  Seemed like he was loosening up a bit, maybe showing a spark of something besides polite acknowledgement.”

      “Seemed… that’s a very past-tense sort of word.”

      “I’m just being foolish, I suppose.  It’s just… there was a jumble sale today and he happened to be there.  We got to talking, and it was real talking, with… he even made a joke, for pity’s sake!”

John hoped his heart would re-start soon, because he refused to disgrace himself by dying with an unfinished whisky in his hand.

      “Mycroft Holmes?  Told a joke?”

      “Exactly!  That says something, doesn’t it?  Then… here comes his driver and you’d swear someone flipped a switch because back came the old, cold Mycroft faster than I could blink.  It was like… it was like he didn’t want anyone actually seeing him having a chat with a commoner covered in second-hand book dust.”

      “Don’t be like that, Greg.  Don’t put yourself down.”

      “I’m not… it’s just what it felt like.  I’m likely reading too much into things, from all sides, but… I guess I hoped you might have some inside information you could share to help me make sense of it.”

      “Sorry, but you’ve come to the wrong place.  Sherlock doesn’t talk about his brother very much and the times Mycroft’s got me alone, it’s certainly not to exchange a few friendly words.  I honestly don’t know much about him; I don’t even know if he prefers men, to be honest.  Sherlock’s made a joke a few times, but I’m not sure if he’s being truthful or just his usual daft self.”

      “Brilliant.  I’m probably so far wrong about him that… oh god!  He’s likely already deduced that I might fancy him a little and… someone kill me now.”

Lestrade let his head drop and smack soundly on the table, prompting John to wave at the server again, point at his now-empty glass, put two fingers in the air and make a mournful face at the slowly expiring Lestrade to drive the point home.

      “I don’t think it’s that bad, Greg.  If Mycroft thought you were trying to flirt with him, I’m fairly certain he’d put a stop to it in a way you wouldn’t have to question what he was doing.  Unless he called you out for being unprofessional or inappropriate or something like that, I’d say you’re safe from any ninja assassins getting into your flat and slitting your throat while you sleep.”

      “I’m going to be wearing a starched collar, just in case.  But… you really think I haven’t made an arse of myself?”

      “I think it guaranteed you have, but that’s what you do every day, so there’s no surprises there.”

      “Ha ha ha… funny man.”

      “I like to think so.  Joking aside, though, no… I don’t think you’ve made an arse of yourself.  I’m not certain Mycroft has any greater social awareness than his brother, so to make a real move on him, you’d probably have to hold up a sign that said ‘Want to Shag?’ in big block letters.”

      “Truly?”

      “Maybe I’m wrong, but, regardless, my best advice is not to worry about it.  And don’t worry about today, either.  He just might not want the people who work for him to know his business.  I can understand that for a man in his position.”

      “You think so?”

      “I wouldn’t have wasted my breath trying to be supportive if I didn’t, would I?”

      “No, you’re fairly miserly with your supportive breath.”

      “Then, there you have it.  And here… one nice whisky to celebrate that you made zero progress with Mycroft, didn’t backslide, and are in exactly the same place as you’ve always been, god have mercy on your soul.”

Lestrade took a healthy sip of his drink and forced himself to relax in his chair.  John was probably right, but… something felt different lately.  Felt _very_ different.  He might not have the deductive powers of the almighty Holmes brothers, but he hadn’t gotten to where he was in his job by being a dunce, either.  Something _had_ happened today and he’d be a fucking coward if he didn’t use the next opportunity he saw Mycroft to make another go at having a real conversation.  If for nothing else, Mycroft seemed like he could be someone interesting to talk to.  Didn’t have to lead anywhere like sharing a cup of coffee or something more potent, did it?  Surely had no reason to lead to prowling the bookshops for prizes they could crow over,  then race home to dive on the sofa and start reading.  At whichever home was closest.  No, nothing of that had to follow the occasional chat and nods of greeting.

But wouldn’t it be wonderful if it could…


	5. Chapter 5

John smirked at the sight of the slightly-neatened flat and mentally congratulated Sherlock on at least trying to win back some goodwill after the jacket episode.

      “Oh.  John.  I supposed you would have been out for longer.”

      “Please don’t tell me you’ve done something else and hoped for more time to tidy up from the disaster.”

      “Alright.  I won’t.”

The smirk was well and truly gone now and replaced by a long-suffering sigh and ‘the headache is coming’ grimace Sherlock knew very well.

      “However, I had mostly completed my efforts before you arrived, so there is nothing that requires your attention and you… may have tea.”

      “I’m a little too full of alcohol for tea right now, but I’ll put the offer in my pocket for another time.”

      “I did not say _I_ was making the tea.”

      “Of course not.”

John walked the remaining steps to his chair and sat down heavily, ignoring the sharp smell of cleaning products wafting from the kitchen.

      “I will, however, phone for take-away.”

Helpful Sherlock was a rare and treasured creature.  You petted him tenderly to encourage future appearances.

      “That would be nice.  Whatever you’d like is fine with me.”

      “I know that.”

This time, John started laughing and felt somewhat amazed that he was completely unsurprised by the statement.  He had too much Sherlock immunity-training under his belt for something that minor to ruffle even a single feather.

      “However, I will make certain to order items that are effective for soothing an alcohol-bloated stomach and are not entirely disgusting when thrown back up again during the throes of a hangover.”

      “Very considerate of you.  But, I think I’ve got a good chance of avoiding that part.  Mostly.  I’m not pissed out of my mind, so tomorrow shouldn’t be an unhappy day.  At least no more than usual.”

      “I prefer to be prepared, regardless.”

      “That’s why you’re the genius.  Always thinking ahead.”

And, speaking of geniuses… might as well see if helpful Sherlock was ready once more to peek out of his burrow.

      “Sherlock… I know this sort of thing comes out of nowhere, but what’s the story with your brother?  Is he single?  Or gay?  Or both?”

Sherlock set down his industrial-solvent soaked cloth and glared at the back of John’s head.

      “Why are you asking about Mycroft?”

      “Just curious.  I see him often enough and can’t say I really know a thing about him.”

      “And that is the happiest of all possibilities.”

      “Come on… tell me about him.  Smart-dressed bloke like that… he have someone waiting for him at home?  Or at their own home but they visit _his_ home when they’re feeling randy?”

      “What is wrong with you?”

Several pints and a jubilant number of whiskies, thank you very much.

      “Nothing!  But, I mean… a man gets curious, that’s all.”

This time Sherlock was not glaring at the back of John’s head, but at John’s face and the doctor wondered if this had been the best time to do some information gathering for poor lovelorn friend.

      “Are you attracted to Mycroft?”

Well, that was unexpected.

      “No.  I am not attracted to your brother.”

      “Then why are you curious about him?”

      “It’s normal to be curious about family and friends of the man you’re sleeping with!”

      “I disagree.  I am not curious about _any_ of your family and friends.”

      “That’s because you’re an evil git and you can’t compare me to you.”

      “Why would you care about Mycroft’s personal life, in any case?”

Yes, this was precisely the wrong time to try and get information out of Sherlock.  Probably half out of his head with toxic fumes.  He offered to call for food, for pity’s sake!  This was Greg’s fault and Greg would pay for this being his fault at the earliest possible opportunity.

      “Because it’s the sort of thing a person wants to know.  You see the newspapers and the magazines.  All about who’s sleeping with who and what happened with this break up and what not.  And, it’s the sort of thing that might come up in conversation and you don’t want to say anything offensive, like ‘how’s the wife’ when the divorce papers were just filed.”

      “Mycroft doesn’t have a wife.”

      “See!  Learned something new.  What else doesn’t he have?”

      “A dog.”

      “Try to stay on target, Sherlock.  Girlfriend?”

      “No.”

      “Boyfriend?”

      “No.”

      “Husband?”

      “No.”

      “Does he want any of those?”

      “No.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Are you attracted to Mycroft?”

      “NO!  Just tell me if your brother likes men and if he’s got one at the moment!”

      “Yes and no!”

      “I… what?”

      “You asked two questions and I provided two answers.  Why are you confused?” 

When in doubt, plead beer.

      “Look, I had a few tonight, so pardon me if I’m a little thick about things.”

Sherlock’s frustrated huff was one of the cutest things John had ever seen.

      “Mycroft is a non-practicing homosexual.”

      “Oh.  So he’s got it pretty well mastered, then?”

Sherlock leaned close and sniffed John thoroughly, confirming that his lover was not at all lying about his alcohol consumption.

      “Mycroft’s romantic life is as dry as the Atacama, which, before you ask, is the most arid location on Earth.”

      “Ok.  Is that by choice or…”

      “I am growing very suspicious, John.  If you are intending some form of appalling ménage a trois…”

      “NO!  God, no.  Again, just learning… your brother’s important in your life and that’s part of what you do in a relationship.  Another thing you do is hook up the unattached when you get the chance, so about my question…”

      “You… the ice on which you tread is perilously thin, John Watson.”

      “You did that in your Radio 4 voice, didn’t you?  You know that turns me on.”

One Sherlock flustered like a startled pigeon.  John Watson is the master of distraction, no matter what thickness of ice he’s standing on.

      “Really?  I mean… no… you will not attempt to… there will be no, as you vulgarly put it, hooking-up my brother with anyone.”

      “Oh, recent break-up?  That can put a man off the dating scene for awhile, but…”

      “Mycroft has not been involved with anyone in years.”

Then he’s overdue for a good shag.  Go Greg!

      “Any idea why?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and scowled, but could only discern John’s inebriation and a small amount of genuine curiosity, neither of which spoke of intended sexual infidelity with his brother or deviancy involving multiple participants.

      “If I tell you, can we consider this conversation over?”

      “Ummmmm… deal.”

      “Very well.  Mycroft’s last relationship ended for the reason that he had precious little time for the professor he was seeing.  I believe the man became insulted by the number of occasions my brother was called away forcing a dinner or social engagement to be postponed or cancelled altogether.  This is above and beyond Mycroft’s naturally repellant personality and gargantuan waistline.”

      “Your brother’s not fat.”

      “I notice you did not say he was not repellant.”

      “He kidnaps me, so I can only be so nice.  And, thank you.  Really, it’s just one of the silly things we average people do.  Don’t worry, I don’t expect the same from you.”

      “Good.  If I wish to know something, I can easily find out on my own.”

      “Don’t investigate my friends, Sherlock.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because… they’re boring.”

      “That is most certainly true, so I will only do so if I feel it is necessary.”

      “I can live with that.  Food now?”

      “Yes.  Already you are beginning to take on the pallor of someone who has absorbed a distressing amount of alcohol and are quickly approaching the state of watching the room spin.  That might lead to vomiting and I will not clean your vomit.”

      “No, you’ll make me clean it and collect a few samples for you to test later.”

      “I am glad we understand each other.”

Sherlock moved off to make the call for food and John quickly pulled out his mobile.

_Mycroft’s gay - JW_

_Evidence?_ _\- GL_

_Sherlock – JW_

_You didn’t tell him, did you? - GL_

_No!  He did wonder if I wanted to date Mycroft, though - JW_

_Not until I’ve had my chance - GL_

_Make it a good one, then - JW_

_Been years since his last relationship, too - JW_

_Good to know.  Thanks, John - GL_

_Next pub night on you?_ _\- JW_

_Cheap fucker._ _And, yes. - GL_

Greg stared at the texts and let a smile grow on his face.  He most likely still had a chance of nil with the great and powerful Mycroft Holmes, but, at least, he knew the chance was not _precisely_ nil.  And where there was a chance, there was hope.  Now, just had to see if he could crack a little more of the Iceman’s ice…

__________

Mycroft gently patted his new volume of Poe and set it with the other bewitched, cosmos-cursed books he seemed to be collecting at an alarming rate and allowed himself a moment of quiet before turning his attention back to work.  Very much a typical day in some ways.  Control the chaos of the world at his office, return home, continue to control the chaos just from the comfort of his study.  Of course, one aspect was highly unique and that was the portion of the day that was, most inefficiently, commanding the lion’s share of his current attention.  His life seemed to be traveling in parallel worlds, connected in some way, yet maintaining their independence, all of which made for an infuriating dance of happenstance that was vexing him mightily.  This was, of course, utterly impossible, however, the universe did not appear to view the issue as a significant problem.

Of course, the question, really, was what to do about the situation.  There was no indication of how he could lose this dream life he had adopted, but also… did he _want_ to do so?  In truth, nothing harmful had been perpetrated.  What ill he had won these past days was by his own, very awake, decisions and not by following the model of what he witnessed while he slept.  However, it was not all necessarily to be viewed through a dark lens.  At minimum, he had seen more of dear Gregory these past few days than in the past few… many… months.  In person, that is.  Surveillance photographs and video certainly did not count.

However, other matters were pressing and reflection on the lovely Detective Inspector or the extra life they appeared to be leading would have to wait.  Perhaps tonight, the expected lack of sleep could be viewed as a blessing.  That would mean tomorrow was entirely his to control without any interference from some diabolical alternative reality.  One did not get to where he was in life by not seeing the positive in situations, no matter how dire…

~~~~~

      “Mr. Holmes!  Fancy seeing you here.  Hope you weren’t coming to call on this poor chap.  I don’t think he’s feeling up to seeing visitors what with that knife sticking out of his chest.”

      “Well, one never knows.  I have, over the years, had the misfortune to meet several individuals who would gladly fight the Grim Reaper most forcefully if he had the notion to call them to their eternal rest on the day they had a notable social engagement.”

      “Ha!  Yeah, you do have me there.  This one must have lost the fight, though, because he’s not breathed a word of anything social since we got here.  Not even a thank you for trying to find out who used that knife to ruin his nice shirt.”

      “Truly, the state of modern manners is disheartening.”

      “Without doubt.  But, that still begs the question…”

      “Could I not have simply stopped a moment to pass the time, seeing you standing here bereft of conversation and companionship?”

      “I’d make a rude noise, but that’s probably disrespectful to the dead.”

      “I have always admired your considerate nature, Detective Inspector.  But, in truth, and much to your surprise, I am certain, I _was_ to meet with this gentleman, though our rendezvous was for tomorrow and in my office, rather than this rather fetid stretch of the Thames.”

      “Ok… that does put a different spin on things.  I suppose I should use my official voice on you now.”

      “My, that does sound exciting.”

      “If you don’t think I’ll remember that, you’re wrong.  I will.  A lot.”

      “I am always glad to be of _service_.”

      “Now, how can I put that in my report?  Hold on a second so I can get out my _private_ notebook. And speak slowly so I don’t miss a word.”

      “Now, now, Gregory… time for such things later.  I believe the taxpayers demand nothing less than your full attention.”

      “That bloke’s not paying taxes anymore, I don’t think, but I see your point.  Alright, Mr. Holmes… what is your connection to the victim?”

      “Classified, I’m afraid.”

      “Ok, and is there anything you can tell me that doesn’t fall under the category of ‘classified?’ “

      “Hmmmmm…. no.”

      “Well that about wraps up my questions.  You’ve been very helpful, sir.  Thank you for your time.”

      “Your efficiency is most commendable, Detective Inspector.  The city appreciates your diligence and commitment to duty.”

      “Whew!  Glad we got that over with.  But… if something comes up that you _can_ tell me about, you will, right?  I know by now that all that national security stuff isn’t anything to fool around with, but I do have a duty to the victim and I take that duty seriously.”

      “I know, Gregory, and I promise that what can be divulged to you will be and at the earliest possible opportunity.  And this investigation will also be taken up through other channels, so rest assured that great effort will be expended towards the identification and capture of the perpetrator.”

      “Good.  And thanks, for that.  I’m sure you have access to resources we coppers can only dream about.  Not that we’re anything to scoff at, of course.  In fact, I’ll even make you a wager.”

      “Oh?  I am most intrigued, do tell me more.”

      “Alright, if we catch the murderer first, you buy me dinner.  If your lot win the match, I get to treat you.  Restaurant of the winner’s choosing.  How does that sound?”

      “I cannot resist competition, Detective Inspector, so you have my full agreement.”

      “Excellent.  Now, I expect you want a summary of what we already know.”

      “If you wouldn’t mind.”

      “Not at all.  Anything for you.  Sir.”

~~~~~

Mycroft’s head jerked up from his desk and he looked around wildly.  In his study.  Face formerly on folders.

Oh dear lord, he’d fallen asleep at his desk, something he hadn’t done in decades.

Oh dear lord, he’d broached a date with Gregory.

Oh dear lord, he had a meeting in two days with someone who had gone worryingly off grid.

At this point, he wasn’t actually certain which of those items worried him the most…


	6. Chapter 6

Well, this was a fine thing.  Not too cool, there was a bit of sun in the sky… if it wasn’t for the body at his feet, one might say this was a lovely day.

      “Damnation!”

Lestrade whirled and startled at the sight of Mycroft Holmes standing behind him, looking at the corpse with frustration and anger coloring his eyes.

      “Mr. Holmes!  Fancy seeing you here.  Hope you weren’t here to visit this poor chap.  I don’t think he’s feeling up to receiving visitors what with that knife sticking out of his chest.”

There, a little levity to purge some of the fire in Mycroft eyes, but, more importantly, Lestrade hoped he’d be fast enough to catch the tall man when he collapsed from whatever was plaguing him.  Mycroft looked terrible!  Not his clothes, of course, which were perfect, as always, but his skin was sallow and there were dark circles under his eyes.  The worst were the eyes themselves, which, now that they were losing their flame and dulling with resignation, lacked their characteristic spark of intelligence and command.  They looked exhausted, actually… as if Mycroft was not only tired, but tired of _being_ tired and desperately hoping he could be anywhere but here so he could get some rest.

      “Unfortunately, I _was_ to meet with this gentleman, though not in this particular location.”

      “Yeah, I can’t really see you having a secret meeting in a place like this.  Too much mud and I can’t say it smells very nice, which can be explained by being on this rather unhappy part of the river, but explanations don’t make things more pleasant on the nose.  I expect super secret meetings are more like in the movies, on bridges at midnight and things like that.”

Lestrade smiled as cheekily as he could and laughed as Mycroft gave him a ‘are you actually serious’ glare.

      “I would respond that you have been viewing too many examples of the so-called spy film genre.”

      “Guilty!  Love those films.  Especially the scene when the savvy copper sidles up to the spy and asks him what’s the real story and he gets a little tidbit that helps break the case he’s working on.”

      “That is fiction, Detective Inspector.”

      “Doesn’t have to be.  Look…see me sort of walking backwards so I can stand next to you and we can look at the body together so anything you might be willing to tidbit to me just looks like we’re having a general chat about the fragility of life or something.  Go ahead… I won’t write anything down until you leave.  Your cover’s safe with me.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was the fact he had not slept in two days and was hallucinating or if the Detective Inspector was actually… being genial.  After the shameful way he had treated Gregory, this was most unexpected… but veritably a gift from the gods.  And it was likely some form of heavenly insult if such gifts were spurned…

      “I hate to disappoint, Detective Inspector, however, I believe that is a bit of artistic license.”

Bland as boiled celery, but at least you were not curt.  That was some improvement, at least.

      “No!  Don’t tell me that!  All my dreams shattered.  Now, I’m the saddest man on this patch of the riverbank.  I beat out the corpse.  Woe is me.”

Gregory was unfailingly dedicated, possessed of a boundless heart and clever mind, unflinchingly valorous, breathtakingly handsome and possessed of the most ludicrous sense of humor in the universe. He was _perfect_ …

      “I have no doubt you will rally from your disappointment.”

      “I’d make a rude noise, but that’s probably disrespectful to the dead.”

      “Most likely.”

      “You’re probably right.  But, I should, in the spirit of actually doing my job, ask what is your connection to the victim, sir.  Can’t turn a blind eye to procedure.”

      “Classified, I’m afraid.”

      “Ok, and is there anything you can tell me that doesn’t fall under the category of ‘classified?’ “

      “I regret to say, but no.”

      “Ok, well that about wraps up my questions.  You’ve been very helpful, sir.  Thank you for your time.  Whew!  Glad we got that over with.  But… if something comes up that you can tell me about, you will, right?  I know by now that all that national security stuff isn’t anything to fool around with, but I do have a duty to the victim and I take that duty seriously.”

There was little more frustrating than hearing a conversation for a second time, but being unable to fully flesh it out as it deserved to be.  As it _had_ been, in another path of his life.

      “That is commendable, Detective Inspector, and I will offer my assurances that justice will be served one way or another.”

      “How about a little tidbit so it gets served _my_ way?”

Waggling your eyebrows… Gregory, you are incorrigible.

      “I am afraid the matter is a sensitive one, however, once it has been resolved, I see no reason you might not be informed so that you may formally close the file.”

      “That’s very kind of you, sir.  But, you’re forgetting something.”

      “Oh?  May I ask what?”

      “My lot might solve the case first.”

The wager!  Oh no… please, Gregory, do not traipse down that particular path when there is no possibility I shall be able to follow…

      “Given the lack of evidence and background information, I find that highly unlikely, Detective Inspector.”

      “Want to bet?”

Did you not hear me, Gregory Lestrade!  No unsanctioned traipsing!

      “I do not wager.”

      “Scared, huh?  Well, can’t say I blame you.  My team is certainly something to fear when we’ve got our noses on the scent.”

Taunting and teasing… you are a rascal, Gregory, but I shall not rise to the challenge.  I cannot… the outcome is simply doomed to failure.

      “I have no doubt.  I cannot be said, though, there is any improvement to efficiency by adding a wager to an initiative.”

      “It adds fun, though, and who doesn’t want a little fun?”

      “Thank you, however, fun is also not a requirement for efficiency.”

Well, congratulations to you, dull and dreary self, for demonstrating that you are the most uninteresting man in the history of humanity.  A sign should be worn to warn off the unwary lest they be contaminated by your insipidness.  And behold!  Watch as Gregory’s eyes dim as he witnesses another of his attempts to engage you in conversation fall to pieces.  Good lord, man… try!  If not for you, you quivering jelly, for him.  Or, at least, deflect…

      “You must pardon me, Detective Inspector, it has been a difficult several days and I am finding myself a bit brusque in conversation.  Please do not take offense.”

No, Gregory… do not allow your expression to soften and warm for my lie and cowardice do not deserve your compassion.

      “I wasn’t going to say anything, but you look like you’ve had it rough.  Can I… let me get you a little coffee, alright?”

Concern!  Honest, sincere concern… despite his own pompous behavior, Gregory still offered the hand of kindness… it would be insulting to refuse and he had already given this man more insult than he could bear to admit.

      “I do not wish to inconvenience you, Detective Inspector…”

No, that was not sufficient.  It may be torture for you, but it would mean a great deal to Gregory, so… show your spine or, failing that, your notochord.

      “… however, if there is coffee on offer, I would not refuse a taste.”

And the light returns!  How beautiful were Gregory’s eyes when lit with true delight.

      “Great!  There’s actually a little place just a bit along and they don’t do a bad coffee.  And by that, I mean it’s so strong you could use it to clean the grease off an engine.  Come on, they won’t miss me here for awhile…”

Lestrade smiled encouragingly and Mycroft took a breath then nodded, picking his path through the wet soil.  Fortunately very long years of practice kept his expression from giving any sign of his nervousness.  He was accompanying Gregory for a collegial refreshment, nothing more.  _If_ one took as the entirety of the situation the sterile words to describe it.  He did not… coffee!  He did not pass a few friendly moments with colleagues over tea and biscuits.  He did not court any form of familiarity with anyone for any reason.  Oh, there had been the random moment when he had been in the same place at the same time with another or others and they had put aside work duties to sate the body’s needs with beverages and food, however… it was not an active choice to share the time.  It was necessity and convenience, nothing more.

This _certainly_ was more.  It was an extremely odd sensation to be worried over, though he had done it all his life for Sherlock and he had hoped all his life that Sherlock would find _others_ who would consider him worthy of worry.  But, he had not spared a thought of such for himself, for the reason… well, in  truth, he neither thought it important nor possible.  But, Gregory’s heart was so large it could gladly extend itself to him, while embracing Sherlock and all the others who made their way into the DI’s sphere.

      “Here we are!  Nothing much, but the patrols in this area swear by it.  I promise you won’t get dysentery, either, so if you want something to eat, consider it safe.  Your heart may not thank you, but your stomach won’t launch an assault at 3:00 am to pay you back for being incautious.”

Mycroft looked at the rather run-down establishment and reminded himself that he had long ago learned that appearances could be deceiving.  However, this particular establishment would have to be very practiced at tale-telling to make this worth his culinary while…

      “I believe coffee will be fine.”

      “Ok.  Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll get some for us.”

Lestrade didn’t wait to see if his companion was taking his suggestion or not and got two large coffees as quickly as he could, breathing a small sigh of relief that Mycroft had taken a table and was not simply standing there waiting for him.

      “Here we go.  And there’s milk and sugar if you want it.  It’s hot, though, so be careful.”

Always with an eye towards public safety.  Gregory was well-suited, in so many ways, for his position.  Oh… it _was_ quite hot.   And also… strong.  Well, he could not say he had not been warned.

      “Ha!  Took you by surprise, didn’t it.  Man comes in at dawn for something to prepare him for a long day of work and you can expect it’s going to… have personality.  The tea’s about the same, but the coffee’s got a bigger hit of caffeine, so it gets my vote most of the time.  But, of course, nothing’s better for a dead-on-your-feet feeling than a good night’s sleep.”

Something the elder Holmes brother had happily avoided due to the rather immediate and serious nature of the current issues at hand, which involved the body that was presently decorating the riverbank.  Of course, the stress of that demanding scenario and the vigilance for avoiding even the tiniest of catnaps was somewhat taking its toll…

      “Yes, well… unfortunately, that is not always an option.”

      “You’re certainly right about that.  There are times when I would swear I see five hours sleep in five days and wonder if I’m actually alive anymore or enjoying some form of moment-of-death hallucination.  Then I get depressed, because if my last thought at the point of death is work-related, I am a sad, sad man.”

How could Gregory be so facile with simple conversation?  How did things fall from his lips with such ease?  _He_ could only affect similar when speaking to himself or at the  telly, which was never sufficiently impertinent to interrupt or deride his attempts at pithiness.  No, there was another time he could affect such a debonair persona and that was when he adopted said debonair persona for a matter of work.  He had, in his younger years, been called to do more in the way of… legwork… and the need for a personality that possessed a greater degree of affability was required for the job at hand.  He _could_ do it… which means the part of him that had a sense of humor and sense of whimsy _was_ accessible at need.  He just needed to learn how to make his mind see this as an ‘at need’ situation and call the beast forth. 

      “I would anticipate that there are worse things to envision as one shuffles off the mortal coil.”

That was not a beast.  That was a church mouse.  You lose this round.

      “That’s true.  My last thought could be of Sherlock, for instance.”

Mycroft snorted into his coffee and was ecstatic that no one he knew was there to see the lapse of control.

      “Very good, Detective Inspector.  I can scarcely think of a worse image to carry into the great beyond.”

      “I can, actually, but that’s just because I’ve walked in on Sherlock and John doing things a human body shouldn’t be able to contort into.”

This time, Mycroft moved his coffee away from his mouth before the short bark of laughter escaped his lips and, this time, he found it punishingly hard to pack away the giggles, giving Lestrade what the DI felt was a positively gorgeous show.

      “I believe I would be rendered blind by the sight.”

      “Probably.  Maybe I should make them a placard to put on stairs when they’re up to something acrobatic.”

      “That might save countless potential clients their vision and our loving couple’s account balances a disastrous depletion.”

      “I’m on it, then.  I think we have some of those glue pen things and glitter left over from a baby party or birthday or retirement or something.  I’ll give it my best artistic effort.”

Lestrade took great pride in the small smile he got as a reaction and wondered where this Mycroft went that day at the jumble sale.  Maybe John was right… a man who did what he did, whatever it is that was, likely didn’t want this part of himself out there for his staff to see.  Keep his private business and lighter side to himself.  He could understand that.  He didn’t let his more ridiculous side out around the PC’s milling about the crime scene, for example.  All business, that was the ticket.  Ok… slowly feeling better about things…

      “You are very kind, Detective Inspector.”

      “I try.  But… well, we’ve known each other for a long time and… why don’t you call me Greg?  At least when we’re just having a chat, of course.  I know official things have to stay official, but it seems like for those times we run into each other that aren’t work-related, Detective Inspector seems a bit formal.”

Lestrade  mentally crossed his fingers because this was a huge gamble, but he couldn’t say he’d never thought about doing it before.  For his part, Mycroft hoped he didn’t look as frozen in place as he felt.  The name.  He had been offered Gregory’s given name.  It was… a step.  One could not be more than professionally involved when titles and descriptors were involved, but with a name, the door was open for something more.  Oh dear… this was terribly unexpected.  Terribly unexpected indeed.  What would… what would his other, dream-based self do in this situation?  Ah, just the thing…

      “Will Gregory do?  I far prefer the full version, as it has a more formidable sound to the ear.”

Other self was socially erudite!  Gregory could not glow more radiantly if he was a star.

      “Oh… well, in that case, feel free.”

Now, prepare for the next hurdle.  You must be equitable, as well as erudite.

      “And, do call me Mycroft.”

Not exactly erudite, but Gregory seemed to approve, if the large, pleased smile was any indication.

      “Thanks!  There… that feels more comfortable.  So, tell me, Mycroft… this matter of yours.  Something big?  Not asking for details, of course, just wondering if you’ll actually see your bed in the next week or so.”

Concern, concern, concern… and on alert for any spilled bits of useful information.  Gregory’s investigatory doggedness was nothing less than laudable…

      “The situation has, unfortunately, a number of stochastic factors that make it quite the challenge, however, I am hopeful we shall see a reduction in, shall we say, intensity within the next twenty-four hours.”

      “That’s good.  At least you might make it home in time for Doctor Who.”

Mycroft nearly spilled his coffee as he gasped sharply and cursed his continuing revelation of emotional fractures.  How did Gregory know that was actually weighing on his mind?

      “Ha!  I knew it!”

      “I have no idea to what you are referring, Det… Gregory.”

      “Oh, don’t lie, it’s embarrassing.  You love Doctor Who, don’t you?  I can see it.  Something smart, but still imaginative and full of wonder.”

And from that description, Gregory believed _he_ would be one to watch the  programme?  That, in no manner, stood to reason, however, he was not going to probe the issue for it… it was nice to be seen in a fashion other than a block of ice destined for a fish-packing company.

      “I may have stumbled across the programme at times, however, my schedule does not permit the close following of anything on the television.”

      “Alright, keep lying if it makes you happy.  You own copies of all the episodes, original and new, and record the most recent ones that you miss because of work and you know it.  Probably have a little routine when you sit down to catch up, like a favorite nibble or beverage and a certain chair.  I don’t see you as someone who’s got props, like a big plush TARDIS or something to cuddle with, but… just know that I know.”

Mycroft endured Lestrade’s brief fake glare and then swallowed his smile as the DI started laughing at his own joke and, likely, the knowledge that a smile _was_ being swallowed by his conversation partner.

      “You paint an interesting picture, Gregory, but I am afraid your palette is rather a florid one for the reality of the situation.”

      “So the situation _is_ real, I’ve just dressed up the details a bit much.   Duly noted, Mr. Holmes.  Duly noted…”

This time, Mycroft did let his smile surface, though it be tiny and fragile, because it was small reward for Lestrade’s bit of detective work.  This was one of the many reasons he found Gregory so utterly fascinating.  His thought processes were markedly different than those he most often encountered and it was truly a breath of fresh air.

      “I do hope you do not bring such fantastical thinking to your work, else the prosecution must surely labor through fairy dust before reaching actual evidence to bring the malefactors to justice.”

      “I make the fairy dust glittery so they can go to the clubs after a long day in court and really sparkle.”

Lestrade decided the cutest thing in the world was watching Mycroft try to keep his face as stoic as possible with all the silliness being thrown around.  This was his best stuff, too!  And it was working… all those little smiles and the tension bled out of Mycroft’s shoulders.  Now, if he could only get Mycroft to play a bit, as well, this would be a perfect day.

      “That aspect might surely win you favor.  As would your personal recommendation for coffee.  Already I can feel its bracing effects.”

Actually, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, but it was difficult to disentangle the effects of a near-lethal dose of caffeine from a near-lethal dose of collegiality.  He was successfully conversing with Gregory!  It was as if they were at the jumble sale again, before his leap back into his tortoise shell, and it was simply divine.

      “Isn’t it nice when you’ve exhausted your blood and this just oozes right in and takes its place?  One day, I’ll get Sherlock to do one of his experiments and see how long a body can survive on coffee, grease, sugar and salt.  Maybe he can make some magic pill for a poor policeman to take to keep him going when there’s an important case in their lap and they can’t spare a moment to actually have a proper meal or a nap.”

      “I am certain he would accept the challenge, however, Sherlock would demand his concoction be tested along with way with human subjects and I am not certain if you wish that to be a fate you suffer.”

      “That’s what John’s for.”

Mycroft hid this new smile with another sip of the asphalt in his cup, then felt it vanish completely as his mobile began to ring.

      “Ah, if you will excuse me a moment.”

Watching Mycroft rise from the table and walk a short distance away, Lestrade sighed and mourned what was undoubtedly the end of their coffee date.  Not that it was a real date, of course, not in the romantic sense, but more the sort of date that dealt with meetings and appointments and things like that.  Mostly.  Maybe there _was_ a little flirting, going on, though.  It was all coming from his side of the table, but Mycroft hadn’t garroted him, so… so far so good!

      “I do apologize, Gregory, but I must depart.  You will be contacted soon to provide access to the information you have accumulated on this case, and I would hope you would give that request all due consideration.”

That was rather tortoise-shell-y, buffoon.  Temper your terseness…

      “The situation is quite dire and any assistance the police might provide to help see this resolved will be gratefully accepted.”

      “Of course.  If there’s any trouble, just have requests routed through me personally and I’ll see you get what you need.  Including that poor bloke’s murderer.  We _are_ going to win this, Mycroft.  You might as well accept defeat now.”

Professional to a fault, yet still you tempt me, Gregory Lestrade.  Villains in tawdry fiction are not so bold…

      “That would surely not be sporting.”

      “So… we have a bet?”

      “Certainly not.”

Terse!  Sound loud the warning bells and call the men to arms!

      “I… I do not make wagers where the outcome is guaranteed.”

      “I see.  And what outcome would that be?”

      “I believe that is self-evident.”

Mycroft raised his most taunting eyebrow and employed it to the fullest on Lestrade, who smiled challengingly and nodded slightly before watching Mycroft perform his stately strut out of the door.  That man would be the death of him, but what a sweet death it would be…

__________

As expected, his car was waiting outside the small restaurant to collect him and Mycroft entered with what he hoped was a resounding air of devil-may-care.  Had he really done that?  Engaged in frivolity with Gregory and had it fail to explode disastrously in his face?  Looking back on his few relationships, it was undeniable that the thread of sobriety ran through the timeline.  He had associated with men of notable seriousness, though surely not dour, and the question of whether this was because he was attracted to that characteristic or fearful of its opposite was a sound one.  But Gregory _was_ a serious man when the occasion called for such.  It was simply that it did not define his personality as a whole and that added a very intriguing layer of complexity.

Regardless, it was not the time for such reflection for there were matters that required the entirety of his attention and they would not be well-served by continued rumination on the subject of one exquisite member of law enforcement.  However, once the current situation had met its end, he could spare a thought or two for what might, in another lifetime, be a broaching of something with Gregory beyond mere friendliness.  Fortunately, he would not be sleeping for quite some time yet, so his accursed brain could not decide to ply him with further images of what might be…

__________

Hmmmm… was it still today or had the magical line been crossed onto tomorrow?  Mycroft truly had no idea and, further, no inclination to check a timepiece to find his answer.  These were the times that tried men’s souls, however, all such came to an end and this one was doggedly trying to defy that simple truth.  This was the first time he had actually sat down since his brief interlude with Gregory and it felt much as finding water after a week in the desert.  And with some quiet and duties properly delegated, he might actually have five minutes or more to sit and let his body take what rest it could until the next crisis reared its head.  Just a small sit to refresh…

~~~~~

      “Mr. Holmes?”

      “Oh… yes, do pardon me.  Have we seen a change of status?”

      “To some degree, sir, yes.  We’ve word from the police that they have a suspect in custody for the murder of our operative.  From what I discern, their case is a good one, so I believe they have the correct individual… how would you like us to proceed?”

      “Ah… well, I know someone who will be quite gleeful over this fact, though he shall surely have words to share with me over the fact that we will now be taking possession of their suspect and they shall be formally off the case from this point forward.  Contact Detective Inspector Lestrade and notify him to make ready his files and notes on this matter, for they will be collected along with the prisoner.”

      “Dimmock, sir.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Detective Inspector Dimmock is temporarily in charge of the case.”

      “Pardon?  Oh dear me, I am becoming repetitive.  Truly the sign of a depleted mind.  Please, explain…”

      “DI Dimmock has been in charge of the case since DI Lestrade was taken to hospital.  I’ll relay your message and we will have the police out of this situation within the hour.”

      “Hospital!  No… that can wait a moment.  What happened to Lestrade?”

      “From what I understand, sir…”

~~~~~

Mycroft jerked awake at the sound of the door opening and stared at the nameless staff member with whom he had just been conversing in his dream.  No… no, this could not be happening…

      “Mr. Holmes?”

      “Oh… yes, do pardon me.  Have we seen a change of status?”

      “To some degree, sir, yes.  We’ve word from the police that they have a suspect they are pursuing for the murder of our operative.  From what I discern, their case is a good one, so I believe they have the correct individual… how would you like us to proceed?”

Pursuing, not captured.  Perhaps there was still time…

      “Is… Is Detective Inspector Lestrade still in charge of the case?”

      “Yes sir, as far as I know.”

Thank heavens.

      “Have the case turned over to… Detective Inspector Dimmock… and have Lestrade… I would prefer a man of his experience take a more supervisory role, as opposed to an actively investigatory one.  Have him directly placed as our liaison and see he is… see him brought here so that we might facilitate their investigation and see it does not… touch upon areas best left to other hands.”

      “Yes, sir.  Right away, sir.”

He was in time.  Whatever Gregory had suffered, he was in time to prevent it.  If thanks were required to whatever agent was upturning his life, he would give it gladly for this one thing.  He could not see Gregory hurt… or worse.  The reality of their lives was that there was always the threat of harm, but this time… this time he could do something about it…

Stretching from his impromptu nap, Mycroft straightened his clothes and dove back into the fray, his small act of rest doing at least a minimal amount of restoration of vigor and the knowledge that he had spared his Gregory was doing even more.  All in all… he had to declare his small nap a success…

__________

When there was, again, a small de-escalation of crisis, Mycroft decided it would not be amiss to at least take a peek on Lestrade and see he was comfortable and being made to feel useful.  It really was, if he was to be honest, a tremendously inappropriate and high-handed act to have Gregory moved about like a chess piece, but he could not let that sour his actions.  The Detective Inspector was safe and that was the only issue of importance, though keeping him busy and with a sense of purpose _was_ a vital element of this plan.  Gregory would seethe with anger if he was left to sit idle and that was not something for which he would ever find forgiveness.

Stepping a moment into his private office and choosing the right video feed to monitor, Mycroft settled back to watch Lestrade in the room set aside for non-section specialists and… wondered if he again had fallen asleep.  Storming back out of his office, Mycroft barreled down the corridor and flung open the door of the room he had just been observing, to stare this unknown person in the eye.

      “Who are you?”

      “Uh… Dimmock.  Sir?  Detective Inspector Dimmock.  I’m supposed to be here, if you’re wondering.  The liaison with Scotland Yard?”

Mycroft blinked and hoped his brain would come back online soon, because it was desperately needed at this moment.

      “I see.  I thought Detective Inspector Lestrade was slated for this duty.”

      “He was.  It’s… it’s not been a good day for us!  I was supposed to take over Greg’s case, but they had to assign someone else and, wouldn’t you know it, he caught a bullet in the arm while chasing a suspect!  He’ll be alright, though, nothing major, not like Greg.  Though I suppose I can’t say that because I haven’t heard any more news, but from what I _did_ hear, he was in a very nasty traffic collision while being brought here and had to be taken away by ambulance.  He’s in hospital, along with our other man, so… no, not a good day to be a copper.”

      “Oh.  Oh… yes.  I… do you… have everything you need?”

      “Yes sir.  Everyone’s being very helpful.”

      “Good.  Carry on.”

Mycroft closed the door and quickly dashed back to his office, locking the door behind him so he could have his breakdown in peace.  This was unimaginable!  It could not be… the phone.  He had to ascertain Gregory’s condition immediately and if everything was not being done for his care, heads would roll.  The first being his…


	7. Chapter 7

Cats could not claim to have the most dramatic fits of the animal species, because Mycroft handily won that particular competition.  The hospital staff first refused to issue him any information then, with the threat of cutting all NHS funding for the next few decades, the hospital administrator relayed that ‘Mr. Lestrade’s condition is still being examined and treated,’ offering no detail on the nature of possible injury.  Since it would be somewhat an abuse of authority to declare the situation a matter of national security, Mycroft seethed then remembered there were two possible sources of information so-far unmined.  The first was to be considered a last resort – John – but the second… it should not exist by all the laws of the universe, but might, for once, be of benefit.

Ordering a car, Mycroft raced home and dashed to his study, opening his safe to draw out his small wish book.  Taking a deep breath, he paged through, noting each of his dreams summarized in his familiar hand until he reached the last page.  This was could only be described as uncomfortably different than the rest, being written not in a rich sable ink, but something more approaching a warning shade of deep, ripe-cherry red.  There was the small snippet of what he had actually dreamt, but there was more.  There was how the dream _would_ have played out, if he had not woken, but more… if he had not interfered…

__

      “Mycroft!  Don’t tell me you came all the way here to see one stupid copper.”

      “Stupid, Gregory?  Valorous, I would say.  I _have_ read the reports, you know.”

      “All lies.  Nothing but pathetic, pathetic lies.”

      “I beg to differ.  I have no doubt the tales of your bravery chasing our suspect are unfailingly accurate.”

      “The one where I nearly tripped down a set of stairs and landed on my head is.  Admittedly, I _did_ have a bullet wound in my arm distracting me, but it still didn’t paint a pretty picture.  Luckily, the police doing their jobs  isn’t paparazzi fodder or I’d have to walk around with my coat drawn up to hide my face and what’s the fun in that?”

      “What a humble man you are.”

      “Not too humble to let you off our wager.  My side solved the case.”

      “Your brethren apprehended a suspect.  It is yet to be determined if he is the correct one.”

      “Did telling that lie taste as sour as it sounded?”

      “More so, actually.  I have yet to enjoy dinner so my palate is particularly vulnerable at the moment.”

      “Poor thing.  I’ll make sure to change that when we have dinner.  I’ve had a taste for Italian lately and know an excellent restaurant that offers the real stuff.  Old family recipes that make the mouth water in anticipation.  How does that sound?”

      “Most intriguing.  However, has your wound, perhaps, rendered you incapable of lifting a fork?”

      “I’d eat with my feet if it meant getting my winnings.  So, you let me know when you’re free and we’ll balance the scales, alright.”

      “I shall seek the earliest possible opportunity.  Now, shall I go and purchase for you the obligatory flowers and ghastly toy companion necessary for all hospital patients?”

      “I will forego the obligatories if you could find a cup of coffee.  The nurses won’t let me have any, even though I have, quite academically, pointed out that my arm is not going to fall off if I had a good hot cup of something with a little personality.  Hospital tea does not have personality.  No, that’s not true.  It does and it’s the same as the dullest, most pedantic person you ever met and hope never to meet again.”

      “I believe I can accommodate you.”

      “You’re going to bring back some tacky gift, too, aren’t you?”

      “Life is full of surprises, Gregory.  Learn to embrace them.”

__

Mycroft sank onto his sofa and tossed the book aside, wishing he could rip it to pieces, but what would be the point.  It would simply be made whole again and continue to chastise him.  He had stepped in to intervene in the possible future and won for Gregory something far worse.  A flesh wound was still most painful, however… however it would not have endangered his life, which was something to which he might now be tenuously clinging.

And, though it was profoundly shameful and self-serving to consider, he had lost something else of profound value.  His dream self had won an evening out.  Yes, it was clothed in a story of won wagers, but that was not entirely the end of the matter.  Gregory _wanted_ to have dinner with him, enjoy an evening where there were no reasons for their time together except their desire to come to know each other better.  If he had learned a thing it was if his dream self had an opportunity of some form, his real self would see a type of chance come his way, along with the possibility of making something of it, no matter how small.  That was the real loss and it was a painful one.

What an utter debacle this was and one of his own making.  He had, as Sherlock adored proclaiming, meddled and had a burning lash laid to the back of his interfering hand.  And… another shameful matter that could be ignored was assigning another to take Gregory’s fate in the Detective Inspector’s stead.  It was high-handed, disgracefully self-indulgent and the price paid for it all was steep.  Just how steep he had yet to determine.

Since the insufferable book offered no information concerning Lestrade’s true condition, Mycroft debated calling John and asking he request the information, but decided against it.  Firstly, it would be highly suspicious and secondly, John would certainly consider this a favor and make a point to collect in the future.   Whereas honoring his wagering loss to Gregory would have been heavenly, albeit imaginary, John would surely make him suffer and he was suffering quite enough at the moment.  Besides, there _was_ a third option, though it was truly the last he had hoped to consider…

__________

Oh dear…

      “Detective Inspector?”

      “Mycroft!  Or… I think it’s Mycroft.  I’m still a little woozy from the painkillers.”

Mycroft’s heart ached seeing Lestrade laying in the impersonal hospital bed, his leg in a cast and his face clouded from the drugs.

      “Yes, it is me, Detective Inspector.”

      “Greg!  Remember?  Or is it me who isn’t remembering?  ARGH!  I hate being thick-headed.”

      “Gregory, do calm yourself.  I cannot be beneficial for you at this point.”

      “I did remember!  Good.  Hate to have been impertinent when you were nice enough to come and visit me.  You _did_ come to visit me, didn’t you, or am I being an impertinent twat,  which is very possible, given it’s me.”

      “There is no impertinence, I assure you, so do spare yourself the worry.  In truth, I was informed of your accident and hoped to ascertain your condition.  I feel no small sense of responsibility since you were injured while in route to tasks I, myself, had you assigned.”

That was said in his finest dry form, but at least more words than three comprised the declaration.  That was a notable victory.

      “You asked for me to be the liaison person!  That was nice of you, Mycroft.  I’d have done a good job, too, just so you know, if it hadn’t been for the bastard who… did something to turn your nice car into scrap.  It happened so fast… I understand now why witnesses for traffic collisions give terrible accounts of their accident.  Just terrible… no one’s interviewed me yet, though, which is good.  Probably embarrass myself and someone would tack my statement up so my whole team could read how embarrassing I was.”

Lestrade giggled rather drunkenly and Mycroft had a very difficult time keeping a smile off of his lips.  The man was positively adorable.  More importantly, though, he did not appear too-grievously imperiled by his experience.

      “I am certain you would give as truthful and accurate account as you were able.  Might I ask, though, the extent of your injuries?”

      “Oh!  Got a busted leg that’s not too busted, so it’ll heal nicely, and some bruised ribs.  They’re keeping me here since I got a knock on the head and they want to watch that.  I’ll go home tomorrow, probably.  At least, that’s what I’m going to tell them.  No use lying here when I could lie about at home where I’ve got my books and beer.”

Gregory would be in hospital exactly as long as needed, even if he had to have a discussion with the physician in charge and impress upon him how dearly he valued the well-being of the man smiling cheekily at him from the bed.

      “You shall still, most likely, have pain medication to take, so beer shall not be on your menu, I’m afraid.”

      “Just a little beer.”

      “No.”

      “A sip.”

      “I shall lay the prohibition down to the molecular level, if need be.”

Lestrade made a very wet and sloppy rude noise that had him giggling again and Mycroft gave himself a small pat on the back for not being an entirely tedious and dry sickbed visitor.  In fact…

      “However, due to the obvious pain of your deprivation, I might make some concession for your plight.  Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

Lestrade grinned so brightly, Mycroft worried anyone entering the room would be blinded by the light.

      “I would commit actual murder for a cup!”

      “Then I shall find one for you.”

Should he?  He should…

      “Do not go anywhere, am I understood?”

Another round of giggles serenaded Mycroft as he left the room to secure Lestrade his prize and to verify the DI’s statement about his condition.  Though it did not sound as if the damage was terribly severe, a blow to the head could be most problematic at times…

__________

      “You are an angel sent from heaven, Mycroft.  This is perfect.”

The hospital administrator had been most happy to part with a cup of coffee from his own private supply for a good cause, prudent man that he was.

      “I am glad you approve.  And I regret to inform you, but your stay here shall be for at least two days further, so sayeth the doctor that is overseeing your care.”

      “What!  No… that can’t be right.”

      “I assure you, it is.”

      “Well… you can do something about that can’t you?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Do something!  Wave your hand about and make a few proclamations.”

      “Gregory… while I was obtaining your coffee, did a nurse, perhaps, increase a bit your pain medication?”

      “Maybe.”

      “I shall take that as a yes.”

      “You see, I can easily picture you with a crown and one of those long, furry capes.  Your umbrella’s already like a scepter and you know you could easily give a good knock to those cheeky buggers who don’t fall into line when you’re giving them the what for.”

      “My, what a majestic tableau.”

      “It fits so wear it.”

      “Rather like my furry cape.”

      “Now you’ve got it!  So go and proclaim that I’m going home tomorrow and bash anyone who says otherwise with your umbrella scepter.”

      “I’m afraid not, for your health is not something with which to take chances.”

      “Boo!”

      “Oh dear, already my subjects are turning against me.”

Lestrade’s giggles once again filled the room and Mycroft realized that he was having rather remarkable success with social conversation this time and hoped that it was not entirely because he was somewhat certain the Detective Inspector would forget much of their conversation when the drugs wore off.

      “I’d be a dashing head of the resistance, wouldn’t I?”

      “Most certainly.  However, I doubt you would be very successful at your post given your limited mobility at the moment.”

      “Yeah, that’s true.  It wouldn’t look good, would it, if I had you get me some blokes to carry me around on their shoulders while I did my resisting.”

      “I believe there is a chance it would send the wrong message.”

      “You’re probably right.   Does that mean I have to stay here?”

      “It does.”

      “Shite.  Could you… could you, at least, wave your scepter and find me something to eat besides hospital food?  I mean you already did such a good job with my coffee that something greasy and magnificent shouldn’t be much of a problem.”

      “Good heavens, Gregory.  What is wrong with your eyes?”

      “They’re supposed to be pleading, like a tiny puppy who hopes you’ll give him a treat.”

      “Oh.  I shall file that away for future reference.”

      “Is it working?”

      “Sadly, no.  I am made of the sternest stuff.”

      “You are made of the fattest stuff, is what you mean to say.”

Mycroft heaved a massive sigh and turned to find his brother standing in the doorway, with a typically-aggrieved Doctor Watson at his side.

      “Behold, Detective Inspector.  Your admirers have come to call.  Or, perhaps, to port you on their shoulders as you wave your flag of freedom.”

Sherlock glared at his brother more out of curiosity at his unexpected levity than any sting from a perceived jab.  And, of course, there was the greater curiosity as to why he was _here_.

      “What are you doing here, Mycroft?  Hoping to feast on the remains of another hapless victim?”

      “To which particular mythology are you referring, brother?  Am I to be a vulture or some form of vampiric being?”

Lestrade’s loud laughter startled Sherlock, who ruffled like a frightened pigeon.

      “His Majesty, the Comedian!  Now, if he only was as good at finding my crap food as telling jokes, I’d be set!”

John moved to Lestrade’s bed and checked his chart, specifically the level of pain meds, while Sherlock split his glare between his brother and the DI.

      “What is going on?”

      “Nothing about which to concern yourself, Sherlock.  I was merely ascertaining Detective Inspector Lestrade’s condition and assessing his quality of care.  He was injured as part of his duties and it is only proper to see he receive the most attentive treatment for his service.”

      “That is suspiciously genial of you.  What is _really_ going on?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but took great satisfaction from Sherlock’s irritation.  Anything to discombobulate his brother was one of life’s little joys.

      “Nothing more, nothing less, Sherlock, so do pack away for suspicion for another occasion.  However, your rantings do remind me that I have a bevy of responsibilities today involving individuals who, if it can believed, are nearly as talented in ranting as you.  Detective Inspector, good day to you.”

      “Thanks for visiting!  When you come back, bring my food!”

Mycroft didn’t let his smile show, but felt a small surge of elation hearing the words, no matter if they were narcotically-tinged.  ‘When you come back,’ not _if_ , but when.   It likely meant nothing, but… he could, for awhile, pretend that it did…

__________

Though he could not take himself away from his work to affect another hospital visit the next day, Mycroft _was_ able to send a very secret package to a certain hospital patient that may have held containers food from what he just happened to know was Lestrade’s favorite Chinese restaurant.  And, if a note was returned saying ‘Thank you for the boon, my liege’ that was certainly nobody’s business but his.

It was also nobody else’s business if he made several inquiries concerning the ability of Lestrade’s flat to support his convalescence and timed the arrival of his next dutiful check on the Detective Inspector’s progress to occur exactly as said Detective Inspector was scheduled to be released.  The business was purely his and he intended to, as they say, make the most of it.  There was still far too great a well of guilt in his soul to do any less.

      “Mycroft!  I’m glad you came so I can thank you personally for the food.  I honestly believe it was the best thing I’ve ever tasted and it surely kept me from slipping away into the Great Beyond.”

      “You are most welcome, though I was not of the opinion your condition was so precarious.”

      “Right at death’s door, just about to ring the bell.”

      “How traumatizing it must have been for you.”

      “It was!  One more mouthful of hospital gruel and I’d have been invited in for a cup of the Reaper’s tea.”

      “How dreadful for you.  However, I do believe that you are scheduled to be released today, are you not, so such a fate shall not again befall you.”

      “My papers were just inked, actually.  All I have to do is have a police vehicle sent over to take me home and I can get myself settled.”

How quickly they arrive at the reason for his happy visitation.

      “Conveninetly, I do have a vehicle at my disposal and had not planned on visiting for long due to other commitments.  Might I offer you a ride?  It is a large vehicle, so it is likely an appropriate one to make your travel comfortable.”

      “Really?  Well, if you’re offering, then I’ll gladly accept.  I don’t want to inconvenience you, though.”

      “There is no inconvenience, have no worry about that.”

      “Then I’m ready when you are.  This is really a help, Mycroft.  Thanks.”

      “I am glad to be of service.  Let me find someone to assist you to the exit.”

While Mycroft found a nurse and wheelchair, Lestrade checked he had everything and spared a moment to wonder what was really on Mycroft’s mind.  Two visits!  From a man who barely gave him the time of day.  Though that wasn’t fair, because their last meeting had been a good one.  A _truly_ good one and maybe… maybe Mycroft  was hoping to keep that particular ball rolling.  Or it could be simple concern.  Either way, it was nice.  It felt good to have someone pay attention and spare a thought for you.  Truth be told, he’d been feeling a little down today, thinking about having some PC drive him home and then… being alone.  The second part would still be true, but having someone with genuine interest give him a ride made things feel quite a bit better.

      “Are you ready, Det… Gregory?”

      “My chariot!  It’s a lovely one, too.  All dingy chrome and faded plastic.”

Lestrade made a shaky stand and tucked his crutches under his arm for the few steps to his wheelchair, expressly not wincing at the pain in his ribs, then motioned for a push to get his sack of belongings.

      “You know, Mycroft.  You could get one of these and we could race.”

      “You are a most competitive man, Gregory.”

      “It passes the time.  We have all sorts of silly wagers while we work a case.  And this one I would most certainly win.”

      “Well, we shall not find that out today, I’m afraid.  A second broken leg would not serve you well, I suspect.”

      “You’re probably right.  I’d have to stay here longer and that is a fate I’m not willing to accept.”

      “Excellent, then let us make a start.”

Lestrade really wished there was someone to document him being pushed like an old codger in a wheelchair while Mycroft strolled regally along beside them.  That would be something he’d definitely look at now and again over the years…

__________

      “Well, here we are.”

      “Very good.  Now, let us see you inside and…”

      “You don’t have to do that, Mycroft.  I know you said you had things to do.”

      “None of which shall be affected by the few additional minutes required to ensure you do not stumble on the sidewalk and require another trip to hospital.”

      “You like to look on the dark side of things, don’t you?”

      “Not especially, but I do value a practical viewpoint.”

      “Fair.  Ok, let’s see how this goes.”

Lestrade waited for the driver to open the door, then slowly swung his leg out and had to admit that Mycroft’s worries weren’t unfounded.  Right now it looked about a league to the door of his building and he’d have to navigate that with crutches and ribs that weren’t on cordial terms with his new means of locomotion.

      “Please do not view this as another race, Detective Inspector.”

      “Ha!  Oh, I’d lose this one, I suspect, so I won’t be wagering today.  Here we go…”

Lestrade made his way slowly the handful of steps then, with the driver providing a steadying hand, the next few steps up to reach the door of his building.

      “Success!”

      “Admirable.  Now, let us see if you can continue your victory fully into your flat.”

Not something that Lestrade particularly wanted to do with the elder Holmes in the vicinity because, not that he had working-man’s insecurity around the rich, but he honestly couldn’t remember what condition his flat was in when he last saw it and there could be socks on the floor that were nearing the state of becoming alive.

      “Really, Mycroft, that’s not necessary.”

      “I believe it is.  Have you, by chance, noticed the condition of the floor?”

Lestrade looked down and along the floor towards the door to his flat and marveled at how brightly it gleamed.  So very clean.  And so very slick.

      “Good point.  Alright continuing on at snail’s pace…”

Which was fine with Mycroft because he was tremulously nervous watching Lestrade slowly make his way across the shiny floor, with both him and the driver on high alert for any disastrous wobble.

      “Ok.  I have arrived without seeing my face meet floor.  My mum would be so proud.”

Mycroft nodded his driver back to the car and waited while Lestrade unlocked the door and carefully make his way through.

      “Just like I left it!  Good to know I haven’t been burgled.”

And there were no socks on the floor or the odor of old take-away rotting in the rubbish bin.

      “Where would you like to situate, Gregory?  You were informed, I believe, to take as much rest as possible.”

      “Sofa, I think.  Got my eye on the telly, my books are close… oh…”

      “Problem?”

      “No, just that my mobile needs charging and the closest power is over there.”

Lestrade pointed to an electrical outlet some distance from the sofa which would not normally pose a problem, but for someone who suffered painful motion, making or answering a call would be a hardship.

      “Have you no extender?”

      “I do!  I’d actually forgotten that I bought one.  It’s… can you get it?  Top shelf of that closet at the back.”

Mycroft waited until Lestrade was lying on the sofa with a pillow supporting his leg before retrieving the extension lead, which raised a new set of questions.

      “Gregory… what is this?”

      “Isn’t it great!”

      “That is one word to describe it.  The other is nonsensical.”

      “No, it’s great.  That’s a power squid!  Saw that at a shop and snapped it up, though I’ve never actually used it.  It was too fun to pass by, though.  Perfect when you’ve got lots of things with those big adaptors that I can’t understand the reason for.”

      “I see…”

      “You want one now, don’t you?”

      “No, I think not.”

      “You’re a man, Mycroft, that means you’re genetically programmed to want gadgets and the like.”

      “Am I?  I must have missed that lecture at university.”

      “Then let me inform you.  You are required to buy power squids and strange desk toys and phone accessories and bizarre tools or you let down the side.”

      “Which side?”

      “The man side.”

      “So, if a woman makes such purchases we are to label her an interloper and enact a penalty of some form?”

      “No, we ask her where she got her toys and see if they have any more on the shelf.”

      “I am beginning to understand.”

      “Glad to be of help.  Now… I hate to keep asking for things, but…”

      “Gregory, it is not an imposition, given your sacrifice, so if there is something you require...”

      “I was just going to ask if you’d plug it in for me and get the phone charger from the kitchen.  Maybe some water to put over here, too?  Or beer?”

      “I believe water will be the beverage of choice.”

      “Evil man.”

Mycroft sniffed imperiously and performed his few tasks, forcibly keeping his mind away from the nearly surreal nature of this encounter.  He had… well, he had felt almost no anxiety in these latest interactions, though he had a suspicion it was the layer of guilt and practical purpose that kept his mind from scuttling into its shell like a crab and hiding from the seagulls.  It was for Gregory’s well-being that he be, for lack of a better term, _friendly_ and that was surely what was tipping the balance, for he would allow nothing to compromise Gregory’s health, not even his own lack of social talent.

      “This is perfect, Mycroft.  Thanks.  Really, I mean that.  Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this, but it’s been a great help.”

      “You are most welcome, Gregory.  Do you need anything else?”

      “No, I think I’m fine.  Just going to read awhile or see if there’s something good on the telly.  Make a few phone calls to let people know I’m back at home.”

      “That sounds most relaxing.  Then, I shall bid you farewell.”

      “Goodbye, Mycroft.  And thanks, again.  This has really made my life a lot easier.”

Mycroft smiled and took his leave, making it all the way to the car before the enormity of what he’d just done hit him with its full force.  That was exceedingly irregular!  He had acted as a concerned friend and been successful!  At minimum, he had hoped to see Gregory safely home and comfortable, and he would be disingenuous to claim it was not, partially, to ease his own conscience, but… he had gone further and it had not been the awkward disaster that he had seen in the past.  Where his concern came across as intrusive and controlling or worse, fumbling, as characterized certain events in his youth.  This was natural and successful and Gregory was glad for his efforts.  Appreciated them and saw honest benefit from them.  It felt… more like one of his dreams than a real-life event and that could not be considered a bad thing.

__________

Of course… just sit down with a hot cup of tea and the mobile rings… was nothing sacred?

      “Hello?”

      “Sorry to inform you, John, but I’m not dead.”

      “Bastard.  I had twenty on you not making it until dinner.”

      “Never bet against a Lestrade.”

      “Don’t stand downwind of one, either.”

      “Funny.  I’ll remember that the next time you’re dying for me to find some horribly-cold case to throw Sherlock’s way because he’s being a complete arse out of boredom.”

      “Well, at least you sound like yourself.  No permanent brain injury to worry about.  When are you coming home?”

      “About… five minutes ago.”

      “Already?  How’d you get there?  You should have called, Greg.  I’d have gotten a cab and…”

      “Thanks, John, but I had a special escort take care of it for me.”

      “A mule?”

      “When Mycroft finds out you called him a mule, don’t expect to live very long.”

      “What?  Tell me I didn’t hear what I think I heard.”

      “Oh, you heard it.  Mycroft came to visit just as I was being discharged and offered me a ride.”

      “Mycroft?”

      “Have you gone deaf?”

      “No, I’m just… _Mycroft_?   When he gives someone a ride it’s _not_ for happy reasons.”

      “Well, I’m happy, so that’s you proved wrong.  Saw me all the way into the flat and got me settled with water, telly, books and power squid to charge my phone.”

      “Mycroft touched that ridiculous thing?  It looks like a radioactively-mutated insect.”

      “Squids aren’t insects.  You should know that being a learned man.  You’re just envious because it’s glorious.”

      “I’ll visit tomorrow and check on that head of yours.  But, back to the strangest of things… _Mycroft_?”

      “It’s a good sign, right?”

      “I… you know, I wasn’t even thinking that way, but you’re right.  That could definitely be a good sign.  Unless he’s just feeling guilty because it’s sort of his fault you were in the accident.”

      “Well, thanks.  Just like you to wipe your muddy shoes on my fantasy.”

      “Calm down, I’m just kidding.  If it was just a bit of guilt, he’d be more likely to have one of his minions do all of that.  Going out of his way to visit you… twice… and get you home?  That definitely sounds like something else.”

      “Something good?”

      “Maybe.  But, how about you worry about healing and leave your imaginary love life for later?”

      “Because my imaginary love life is more fun to think about.”

      “Well, that’s hard to argue with.  I tell you what, I’ll stop by later to give you an actual check over and we can talk about it.”

      “That sounds good.  How about bringing some food with you?”

      “Pardon me, but my name is not Mycroft Holmes.”

      “He sent me Chinese food in hospital.  I think it was a courtship gift.”

      “You’re easy.”

      “Sad, but true.”

      “I’ll see you later, Greg.”

      “With food?”

Lestrade smiled at the disconnected call and rubbed his hands together in anticipation of some good take-away and a real brainstorming of the love live situation.  Mycroft had gone out of his way to be helpful and considerate and that _had_ to mean something.  And with a dodgy leg and ribs, if this did mean something, then Mycroft would have to come to _him_ to keep things moving.  That was… good.  It would give him a real chance to understand if this was just a bit of being nice to the man you got crippled or if there was something more to it.  All investigations should be this fun… and have as delicious a possible outcome…


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft opened his eyes and looked around his bedroom, casting a glance towards his clock and seeing the normal time he rose greeting him with its familiar bluish-tinge.  No dream.  These three nights since Gregory’s accident he had been graced with an unremarkable sleep and could only suppose that his rather significant faux pas had broken the spell under which he had been laboring.  Starting his day with a smile was certainly not the norm, but he had no objection to breaking tradition this one time and would not offer any obstacle to it stretching happily over his lips…

Rising from his bed, Mycroft indulged in a luxuriant stretch and began making ready to meet his day, which was slated to be a full one.  America was being fractious again, though ‘again’ implied there was a time when it was otherwise and that was surely not the case, and there was a number of internal issues that required his attention and rather subtle management.  Then… he had to decide it if was appropriate to call upon Lestrade and inquire after his health.  He had taken the initiative to extend concern on two separate occasions, which was something of a record in his life, but to tempt fate thrice?  In such short order?  Even for a boon companion, would that frequency seem nannying or presumptuous?  Not that he was a boon companion, of course, but if that particular shoe fit, his foot was certainly not sized for the undertaking.

Gregory _had_ been pleased, though.  There was no denying that was the case, regardless of the attempts by his mind to cast it in the light of gratitude and generalized affability.  He had welcomed the company and been most taken by the small gift of food.  Further, he had been genuinely happy to see a stuffy and pompous man walk through his hospital door and, later, pass a few cordial moments in his home.  All of that, so precious and rare, was something that could not, not under any circumstances, be jeopardized.  If anyone knew the danger of handling a matter indelicately, it was _him_ and he had no wish to disturb the fragile connection he may have brokered with the Detective Inspector.  But, what if, by immobility on the issue, he committed the same affront?  Appeared uncaring or, worse, dismissive.  What if Gregory believed the jumble sale incident was being repeated? This was infuriating… why did personal matters have to be so damnably difficult!

Packing away his indecision for a more appropriate time, Mycroft saw himself dressed and groomed, though certainly not mentally satisfied, then took a final look at himself in the mirror before opening the door to the bedroom and stepping out…

… into the hallway outside Gregory’s flat?  And… what was he doing knocking on the door!

      “It’s open!”

      “Greetings to you, Detective Inspector.  How rested and restful you appear.”

No… no no no no no… those words did not come out of his mouth!  But they did.  Oh no… something was dreadfully wrong…

      “Thanks!  Come to check that I hadn’t run off to join the circus?”

      “I admit I do not put it beyond your capabilities to be an exemplary showman, however, I suspect there are few jobs at the moment that could accommodate your disabled state.”

His mouth had a mind of its own!  Those were not his thoughts!  His thoughts were certainly not that amiable before his morning tea!

      “You’re probably right.  Even mucking out the animal pens would need two good legs and I’ve only got one.  Guess I have to wait until the other one decides not to be such a lazy sod and is ready for work again.”

      “Then your sofa shall be your place of business for the duration and I am certain it is happy to serve in that stead.”

      “It’s a good lad.  Not a spring gone wrong or gaping hole to be found.”

      “Something for which I am most glad to hear, for that means you shall not have cause to suffer unduly while you pass the time with these.”

These?  What these?  And why was his mouth still moving when his mind was expressly telling it to clamp shut and allow his feet to take them away from this voodoo?  Even his arm was rebelling by conjuring something from behind his back and handing it proudly to Gregory.  His entire being was staging a coup!

      “Hah!  You remembered!  Just the thing for healing up from a bit of stupidity.  Some good Verne to while away the time.  Thanks for this, Mycroft.  You know exactly how to make me happy.”

From where did he get books?  He… oh my, the Neuville and Riou illustrations were always a joy to view even when one was suffering a mental breakdown.

      “It’s supposed to rain tonight, too, so _Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea_ is the perfect one to start with.  I can watch for a kraken slithering up to the window from the storm drains.”

      “Do snap a selection of photographs, if you would be so kind.  I am certain some zoologist would be greatly pleased for a new research pursuit.”

Humor!  How was his sphincter not shrieking in agony from the ventriloquist’s hand that had to be inserted up through his arse for this nonsense to occur?

      “I will!  Got my mobile right here, thanks to you and my beloved squid.”

      “Another creature of extreme zoological, as well as electrical, interest.”

      “It can fight the kraken if the evil thing gets too nosy and tries to spy on me in the bath.”

      “Something, if it has any measure of good sense, it will surely attempt.”

Now see here… that was unpardonably forward.  Note to self:  have strong words with self at the earliest possible opportunity.  And excise the ventriloquist from his bottom.

      “Why, thank you, Mycroft.  I must say, you’ve got a good eye.”

Not as ‘good’ as yours, Gregory, which appear as if they were rendered by the greatest of the Old Masters in the most spectacular portrait ever painted in their lifetime.

      “I would agree.  Something we might discuss as you reap your spoils.  Have you a final decision for the restaurant to prepare your victory meal?”

At least Mr. Mouth was finally behaving sensibly.  Further knowledge of Gregory’s culinary preferences could only be considered useful.  If he had the occasion to use it, that is.

      “Certainly have.  My very favorite Italian restaurant \- Gambino’s.  Everything they make is a symphony in your mouth.  Layers of delicious flavors all coming together in one perfect composition.”

Accessing mental location map of the city… find the restaurant section… Italian… the G’s… ah.  An unassuming locale he had never sampled in a pleasant, though modest, area.  It was often in such places that little gems could be found.  Hopefully this one was real and not another demonic entity like the bookstore he had stumbled into. It was probably that blasted proprietor that was using him as a dummy.

      “I am utterly intrigued and look very forward to my introduction to their fare.  I shall leave it to you to set the window of our visit.  Are you sufficiently ambulatory with your crutches or shall we wait until a later date?”

At least his ventriloquist was mindful of Gregory’s welfare, something quite unexpected for a spiteful and foul sorcerer.

      “Ooh, that’s a good question.  Right now, just going to the loo is a bit of a struggle, so it’ll have to be after I can make the trip without needing a half hour or so to hobble there and back to the table.  My food would get cold and that is a crime I’d have to arrest myself for.”

      “Dear me, we cannot have that.  I would be left to finish your dinner as well as mine and my internals would surely rebel at the surplus of succulence.”

What a profoundly ridiculous implementation of consonance!  Insipid wordsmithery, yet… Gregory _was_ giggling his adorable giggle.  And, besides, Mr. Mouth had turned traitor long ago so he could not be held responsible for his mauling of the English language.

      “My fate is sealed!  Let’s see how well I’m able to move about once these ribs don’t ache quite so rudely when they battle my crutches and then we can set something up.  Does that sound alright?”

      “A very sensible plan and given your natural vitality I feel certain the wait will not be a long one.”

      “Look at you full of compliments today.”

Yes, do look, Gregory, for, once I am liberated from my puppeteer, it shall likely be a goodly while before you shall hear such from me for that is certainly not my area of strength when my strings have been cut.  Though, for you, I would dearly hope I could make some form of effort…

      “I do prize awarding flattering words where they are due.”

That was flirtation!  Bald-faced, unabashed flirtation!  Oh good heavens, this was…

_!!!!!!!!!!!!RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!_

Mycroft’s head shot up from his pillow and his skin began to collect a sheen of cold sweat.  It had been a dream!  He had _never_ woken and had dreamed the entire fantasy.  But… he had felt awake!  He still held the physical sensations, could smell the scent of Gregory’s flat… how could it have been a dream?  Every word was etched in his mind including those _only_ spoken in his mind.  Which was apparently where _all_ of his experience had been housed.  No… it could not be a dream, it simply could not… but it was.  Or it wasn’t.  He could not even trust his own sense of reality anymore!  This was catastrophic!  Or… not.  At least this only seemed to involve his personal life and his work was spared, but it was still astronomically worrying.

Or, again, not.  He _had_ slept without any appreciable dreams for two nights after Gregory’s accident.  He had slept while Gregory recovered from the worst of his troubles and, if he was honest, taken active steps to make that recovery a bit easier to bear.  If he considered it a certain way, there was something to be made of that.  He had erred, committed an egregious error and had suffered both the knowledge of his error and a lack information or, though it painted his tongue with the vilest of flavors to concede, _guidance_ from his dreams.

But, he had made amends.  He had reached out to Gregory and, further, seen a note added to Detective Inspector Dimmock’s personnel file concerning his competence in performing the duties he was so abruptly assigned to perform.  Then, suddenly, he is visited by a dream of the most powerful nature that, again, offered an optimistic scene for him to view or, in this case, appear to take part in.  He could still ask his knuckles to remember the feel of the wood of Gregory’s door and they happily obeyed.  He had never experienced a dream of that nature, but… he could not deny it was one of value.  And it gave him a plan for moving forward, if moving forward was what he desired.  He had taken steps… small, but recognizable steps towards being something more like the man he hoped to be, at least for the tiny area of the Detective Inspector and… maybe he could add one or two more…

__________

This bookstore, at least, was not likely to vanish down the rabbit hole and if it did, the proprietor had four rather Valkyrie-like daughters who would gladly draw it back out if there was still profit to be made in bookselling.  And, wasn’t it a happy thing that he found exactly that for which he was looking.  The fact that he had phoned and inquired beforehand in no manner diminished his contentment at the small stack of books for which he was currently paying.  Gregory did cherish time spent with a book in his hand, did he not?  His flat showed clearly that books were welcome guests, taking space on the sofa table, shelves and even floor, looking not at all like they were simply an item for decoration.  They were read, perused, studied, reflected upon… well, now there could be a few additional in the flock for Gregory to enjoy.

Of course, there was still the decision to be made.  At this point, there was no commitment on his part, no action that could expose him or could not be taken back.  Gregory had asked for food in hospital, so that particular action was, in one light, more of a favor than a gift.  But this was an entirely different matter.  This, undeniably, was a gift, even if it could be moderated by the ‘one is kind to the sick and injured’ spirit of community.  Gregory would so enjoy the books, though… and perhaps he would enjoy a word or two shared while they were being bestowed…

__________

It was not too early to beg the question of why he was not occupied with work and not too late to beg the question of his manners or lack thereof.  Of course if he did not actually knock upon the door, the latter would come into view in very short order.  Very well… demonstrate the courage that made England great…

      “It’s open!”

      “Greetings to you, Detective Inspector.  I hope that I am not intruding?

      “Not at all!  Admit it, though, you came to check that I hadn’t run off to join the circus, didn’t you?”

Humor - there are no known cases of death by jest, so show willing to, at least, return some bit of levity, which you know Gregory appreciates.

      “I would assume that running is not precisely your forte at the moment.”

Grin!  Grin had been achieved.  Oh happy day…

      “You’re probably right.  Guess I have to wait until the other one decides not to be such a lazy sod and is ready for work again.”

      “Your sofa appears still to offer you a comfortable experience, however, so I presume you are not unduly distressed by your inability to sprint.”

      “It’s a good lad.  Not a spring gone wrong or gaping hole to be found.”

Moving along most nicely on schedule. And, now… we come to the more interactive portion of our evening, so do cross one’s fingers that this not culminate in a world-ending disaster…

      “Something for which I am most glad to hear, for that means you shall not have cause to suffer unduly while you pass the time with these.”

Mycroft moved his hand from behind his back, were he had been concealing the sack of books he had brought and tried to smile encouragingly as he moved closer to hand them to Lestrade.

      “Hah!  You remembered!  Just the thing for healing up from a bit of stupidity.  Some good Verne to while away the time.  Thanks for this, Mycroft.  You know exactly how to make me happy.  It’s supposed to rain today, too, so _Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea_ is the perfect one to start with.  I can watch for a kraken slithering up to the window from the storm drains.”

How radiant was Gregory when he was truly pleased.  If, in his own heart, he had doubted the efficacy of this plan, it was fading fast seeing how absolutely luminous was the Detective Inspector as he paged through the tomes, eyes lighting at the illustrations and, in some cases, terribly lurid cover art.  Now the question was could he _continue_ the humorous banter or might it be wiser not to tempt fate.  Since he was not entirely certain about Fate’s opinion of him at the moment, caution might be more prudent option.  Or the more cowardly option.  Oh hang it, compromise with a _minor_ amount of amusing bonhomie.

      “That would surely incite some pointed comment in the newspapers.”

      “The Daily Fail would think they died and went to heaven.  Probably lose a reporter or two trying to get an interview with it, which I can’t say is a bad thing because the fewer of that particular lot we have in London the better.”

      “An opinion that has my hearty support.”

      “Besides, they might get some candid pics of _me_ if the evil thing gets too  nosy and tries to spy on me in the bath, while they’re stalking it for news on who it’s sleeping with.  They might actually think it’s me!  Oh no, I’ll be tabloid fodder because I’m being peeped on by a sea monster.  There goes my chances for promotion.”

The Detective Inspector was a positively silly individual when he chose to be and that only added to his already immeasurable appeal.

      “Good heavens, Gregory, your imagination is certainly robust.”

      “Not the only thing about me that’s… ok, that was going to be a bit, or a lot,  inappropriate, so I’m going to stop there and smile innocently while I offer you something to drink.  That’s if you have the time, of course.”

What in heaven’s name… _oh_ … oh, Gregory.   You are quite the tawdry individual when you are of a mind for it.  That certainly shall be made note of for later.  Especially since you have extended an invitation, which was certainly not what was expected from the evening, but is an extremely gladdening thing.  Startling is still edging out gladdening as the descriptor of the moment, but second place is a rousing finish nonetheless.

      “I find that a very agreeable suggestion.

      “Great!  Just… one minute…”

      “Gregory!”

      “What?”

      “Whatever are you doing?”

      “Uh… getting off the sofa?”

      “You were, if you remember, advised to move about as little as possible.”

      “True, but it’s going to be difficult to get us a drink if I don’t move.  It’s hard to admit, but my portfolio of winning traits doesn’t include mental telepathy.”

Was the man mad?  Gadding about to obtain a simple… measure of the liquid they would be consuming.  Perhaps he should contract someone to act in a service capacity until Gregory could more easily tend to his household responsibilities… Oh dear, that was rather a sizeable step along the path he was most desperately trying to avoid.  Amendment to any existing mental rules on current subject - no providing Gregory with servants until it was formally requested by the man in question so as to avoid appearance of an interfering nature.  Drat.

      “Be that as it may, I believe if you provide for me instructions, I might handle the task myself.”

      “Oh!  Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.  I’d have to ask you to carry the drinks back here anyway, so why have you watch the ridiculous spectacle that is me tottering on my sticks when we can avoid that unpleasantness and concentrate on our tasty beverages.  What’s your pleasure, Mycroft?  I do have tea if you have a taste for that or something stronger if it’s more to your liking.”

And was the scamp waggling his eyebrows?  He was.  Gregory was masterful in his social abilities.  Admittedly, compared to _him_ a garden snail was a highly gregarious creature, but he could admire the characteristic in others, even if it was not present in himself.  But… he _was_ managing to keep the conversation in motion, so that represented some degree of advancement…

      “I am not averse to a spot of spirits in the evening.”

      “That’s what I hoped you’d say!  Third cupboard along on the right.  Pick what strikes your fancy and I’ll have the same.”

Alright… this was officially nerve-wracking.  Keeping the last bioterror incident contained and unremarked by either the press or citizenry had not disturbed his constitution to this degree.  A drink.  He was going to have a drink with Gregory.  A relaxing, friendly drink with a person he had enjoyed some degree of fantasizing about for this specific issue.  Sharing a glass of spirits and enjoying the warming effects while they relaxed into conversation of the most personal and intimate form.  Not that such would occur this evening, but… progress.  Even a millimeter forward counted as progress…

      “Oh, this is a pleasant label of whisky.”

      “Good choice.  That’s my favorite for those rare evenings I actually have free and can spend a few hours enjoying a sip of something special.  Make mine a triple.”

      “Neither your liver nor your head tomorrow would offer me thanks, so I believe a more modest portion is appropriate.”

      “Oh fine.  You look nice, mum, I did mean to say.  That new hair style brings out your eyes.”

Affable banter… and it was not being diverted and impeded by his standard wall of ice and granite.  Progress, progress, progress…

      “What a churlish individual you can be when denied excess, Detective Inspector.”

      “Part of my charm.  Which will increase nicely with a little whisky in my blood.”

That… oh that was certainly flirtation.  The cant of the eyes and tone of the voice… this had to be handled with the _utmost_ of delicacy and care.  More gently than the most fragile of porcelain dolls.  Please, let this go well…

__________

The doll remained unshattered!  Convivial conversation, a sharing of potables… Gregory was enthralling in his companionship… if the dear Detective Inspector’s eyes were not drooping, he would gladly continue this for hours…

      “Gregory, I do believe it is time for you to retire.”

      “Nope, too young.  Which isn’t something I can often say!”

      “You know very well what I mean and do not attempt a denial for it surely will be swallowed in the gaping chasm of a yawn.”

      “Just a half-hour more?”

Yes.  Hours more, gladly, if it would be a proper decision for your recuperation and health.  Since that is not the case…

      “Certainly not.  The doctor mandated rest and rest you will have.”

      “Oh, I hate everything.”

      “That was merrily all-encompassing of you.”

      “I’m good like that.  Not a discriminatory bone in my body.  Spread the hate around so everyone gets a share.  You can have two, since you poured the whisky.”

      “I am honored.  May I have three since I shall also return the glasses to the kitchen?”

      “That’s fair.  And make them heaping ones.  In all seriousness, though, Mycroft… thank you for stopping in.  I really enjoyed myself.”

Oh dear… that was an unequivocal a statement as one could make… the awarding of a successful score for the evening was _absolutely_ justified, though it would have to fight through the cobwebs of his personal trophy case to find a spot in which to sit.

      “And, if it’s not too… forward… I wouldn’t mind doing it again.  If you have time to spare, of course.”

No, his previous assertion was in error.  _This_ was an unequivocal statement as one could make!  There was no mistaking the intent.  Not at all.  Not in any fashion.  Good heavens, it was difficult to speak when one’s heart was beating at a speed approaching that of light from the sun.

      “I… I believe I might find the time to pay you a visit again, Gregory.  It was a very pleasant evening and I would have no objection to seeing it repeated.”

Not a suave or pithy response, but the message, at least, was clear.  And the message was one Gregory was visibly happy to receive.

      “Great!  Well, you know where I am, so don’t be shy about paying a call.  Here, let me see you to the door.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, must we have this discussion again?  Your healing is not facilitated by unnecessary motion at this stage of recovery.”

      “My healing also won’t be facilitated by sleeping on the sofa or failing to get up to visit the loo, so I’ll kill all those birds with one on-my-feet- stone.”

Very strategic.  What a delight would Gregory to debate in a real argument.  Whose turn it was to choose the television program for the night’s entertainment, for instance, or the color of the walls for the painting of their shared bedroom.

      “Well, I cannot fault the nod to efficiency, so you may proceed.”

Jest made, grin received, all was right in the world.  Providing a small bit of assistance to the Detective Inspector as he rose from reclining for such an extended period changed that not a soupcon.

      “Thanks!  I forget I stiffen up a little.”

Which was natural, normal and allowed me to lay hands, albeit chaste, on your person, Gregory, so no explanation is required.

      “Completely understandable.  And now, I shall bid you farewell.  It was a splendid evening Detective Inspector.  I do hope you rest well.”

Walking slowly so Lestrade could perform his manners-mandated escort to the door, Mycroft wished, fleetingly, that he had a love for dancing, for it was what he very much felt like doing at the moment.  Dance to his car, dance to his door, dance around his home, dance until dawn… it _had_ been a splendid evening.  The most splendid he could recall…

      “Oh!  I probably should have asked if you wanted me to call for a cab.”

      “There is a vehicle waiting, Gregory, but I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

      “That poor driver!  I feel a little bad now keeping you so long.”

      “And for every moment he exceeds his designated working hours, he is handsomely compensated.  And, additionally, there is a multitude of activities with which one can while away the time.  For instance, I do believe, given past example, he has, I believe the term is, ‘leveled up’ at least twice during our visit.  The lack of distraction and exceptionally fast laptop with equally fast internet connection are additional perks of the job.  Of course, this could be one of his other amusements and there has been treasure acquired, a castle stormed or a dragon tamed.  It is all most… colorful.”

      “HAH!  Well, I’m glad the lad enjoys himself.  Goodnight, Mycroft.  And, again, thanks.”

      “Goodnight, Gregory.  And, thank you, as well.”

With a smile he hoped was pleasant and warm… warmish… Mycroft stepped into the corridor and made his way to the door of the building when his senses went on high alert and his hand reached inside his jacket in preparation for a possible confrontation.

      “Finally.  I thought you would never leave.”

      “SHERLOCK!  What… what are you doing here?”

      “The question, really, is what are _you_ doing here, brother dear?”

      “I believe that would be obvious.”

      “Nothing is obvious with you, Mycroft.  And as this is far more interesting than John’s ridiculous order that I visit the sick like some form of priest, I shall be going home with you to discuss the matter further.”

      “No, you will not.”

      “Already decided.  I shall see you in the car.  Do not dawdle or I will pay the driver to leave without you.”

Sherlock whirled around and strutted out of the building, leaving Mycroft to release a well-practiced sigh of frustration.  Oh goodie, Sherlock wanted to talk.  This was certainly going to be the icing on the cake of his evening… 


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft dramatically ignored Sherlock in the car for the duration of the ride home and seethed when he was unsuccessful beating his brother to his front door so he could dart inside and close it behind him.  In Sherlock’s face.

      “You are an infant.”

      “That is quite the statement, coming from you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock pushed his way into Mycroft’s house and past his brother, who sighed loudly and followed him into the study.

      “Given Doctor Watson’s mandate you pay a call to buoy Gregory’s spirits, I would have thought…”

      “Why are you calling him Gregory?”

The partially-scornful, partially-confused tone in Sherlock’s voice told Mycroft that this would not likely be one of their shorter conversations.

      “Because it is his name.”

      “Not to you.”

      “Oh?  Sherlock… did you perhaps suffer yet another head injury about which I have yet to be informed?”

      “You have also paid Lestrade an excess amount of attention of late.”

      “Have I?  Well, then, I shall strive to pay the correct amount of attention in the future.  When you find the ledger in which that value is scribed, do bring it to my notice.”

      “You are not humorous, yet you have demonstrated, or attempted to demonstrate, humor in proximity to Lestrade on more than one occasion.”

      “Should I be flattered by your cataloguing my behaviors?  Truthfully, I find it a bit sad and awkward of you.”

      “Which is normally _your_ bailiwick, so I do not begrudge you your consternation.  However,  I do believe I deserve an explanation for your conduct.”

Sherlock hurled himself onto the sofa and smiled smugly at Mycroft who glared at him in return.

      “ _I_ believe you are both incorrigible and putting your nose in affairs that are not yours to mind.”

      “And what affairs would those be?”

      “Sherlock… do you actually have a reason for being here or is it simply another in your endless string of nuisance visits that will endanger the organization of my bookshelves and see my cupboards emptied of the most flavorful of my biscuits.”

      “There is something going on with you and I want to know what it is!”

The petulant tone in his brother’s voice matched very well the image Mycroft carried in his mind of Sherlock at his most childish, which was certainly the case tonight.

      “I have previously explained to you my interest in the Detective Inspector, but if you require a reminder I shall happily articulate one.  Gregory’s injuries are directly tied to the duties he was to have performed and, as such, it is my responsibility to ensure he receives the proper care and verify that he is recovering as per schedule.”

      “If you believe for a moment I put stock in your poppycock, you have lost the ability to perceive reality to _any_ appreciable measure.”

Well, that was uncomfortably close to the mark, not that Sherlock needed to know it.

      “I have truly no idea what you would prefer me to say, brother, but if you provide a script I will perform it with all necessary theatrical affectation.”

Mycroft watched as Sherlock rose to his feet, scowled and stalked around the room, keeping an eye on him as if he was waiting for some slip to reveal the bodysnatcher that had taken his skin as a home.  Finally, tired of being studied as an alien being, Mycroft motioned Sherlock to, again, have a seat on the sofa and took the chair next to it for himself.

      “Sherlock… if something is bothering you, I would appreciate you speaking with me about it.”

Sherlock squirmed a bit before answering, which still needed a pointed throat-clearing by Mycroft to prompt.

      “Are you interested in Lestrade for friendship or is there another reason?”

Oh my… the air in the room had apparently vanished and left him with this terribly disagreeable choking sensation.  Very unkind of it when he already had his brother with whom to contend.

      “I… I have no idea what you mean.”

      “Then you are either blind or lying.  You are not… your behavior has changed towards him.  I have noticed the shift for some time, though you have tried, and failed utterly, to disguise it with your typically condescending and supercilious manner.  Recently, it has become decidedly more noticeable and your conduct in the matter of Lestrade’s injury is the final, damning evidence.  Will you now give your confession or need I go on?”

Curse Sherlock’s nosy nature!  Insufferable boy… but it would damn him even further if he continued to feign ignorance of his brother’s assertions.

      “Very well.  Given we have had time to become acquainted through your ridiculousness and lack of concern for your personal welfare, the Detective Inspector and I have developed a cordial relationship and, if pressed, I would not deny that we have had more opportunity to interact of late, and are responding accordingly.”

      “That was meaningless.  That was the most meaningless statement ever issued by a human being.  And do note that I bestowed upon you the honorific of inclusion in the human species, though I have grave doubts about its accuracy.”

      “Lovely.  And it was not meaningless.  Gregory and I have simply become more familiar through association and that is likely what you have discerned about my attitude towards him.”

      “Your mouth is moving but… has anything come out?  I don’t seem to have heard a word, let alone a truthful one, produced by any amount of your lip flapping.”

      “Really, Sherlock…”

      “You visited him in hospital.  You don’t visit _me_ in hospital!”

      “That is patently untrue.  The fact that you verbalize you are ignoring my presence does not actually negate the fact I was there.”

      “It should.  Regardless, you were at his flat.  And John informs me that you saw Lestrade home from hospital, as well.  That is more interaction with another person than you have seen in years.”

      “I fail to understand why this has you so agitated, Sherlock.  A simple courtesy to one who has been my ally through some of your more tumultuous experiences should not be such cause for concern.”

      “You. Visited. His. Flat.”

      “Your. Point. Being?”

      “You do not visit!  I am putting you on alert, Mycroft that if you are playing some form of game with Lestrade, you will rue the day you embarked on your scheme.”

Oh… oh, now that was most intriguing.  And heartening.  It was painfully rare that Sherlock allowed his care and concern for another out into the open and this was truly a stellar example of his brother’s heart at work.

      “Rest assured, I am doing nothing of the kind.”

      “Then what are your intentions?  And speak them plainly for I have neither the time nor the desire to decipher your labyrinthic verbosity.”

There were only two real options for ending this interrogation.  One was to simply refuse and allow Sherlock to pout, in his study, unmoving, the remainder of the night.  The second was to provide a degree of honesty that would satisfy his brother’s not inconsiderable and, truth be told, protective curiosity.  Of those two, the latter was, likely, the least painful.

      “As you wish.  It is my intent to cultivate what degree of friendship I can with Gregory.  His conversation is enjoyable and I find the time we share most pleasant.  I would appreciate it, take it as a personal favor, if you did not bleat this information to your better half, as I would rather Gregory not find out that I have discussed what is, at this juncture, a relatively fragile restructuring of our relationship to a new model.”

      “You desire a friend.”

      “Is that so difficult to believe?”

      “Yes.  And you are most aware of the fact.”

This was evilly tenacious of Sherlock.   His tone, though, indicated he was serious about the situation and not simply stirring the proverbial pot for sport.

      “I will concede the point.   Perhaps it is has simply taken me until now to attain or recognize a desire for one.”

      “Why Lestrade?  Why not… anyone else in London?”

      “Are you disparaging the Detective Inspector?”

      “No, he seems simply an unlikely candidate for your… friendship.”

      “As John seems an unlikely candidate for yours, yet I believe you will agree the situation has been a successful one.  Highly successful, I might say.”

Sherlock shook his head with a dissatisfied forcefulness and Mycroft used the opportunity to, again, give thanks that his brother had finally found a few people to whom he felt safe showing his heart, albeit on Sherlock’s own special terms.

      “You are not me.”

      “Something for which I am forever thankful.  Sherlock… what is truly troubling you?  If you deem to demand honesty from me, the very least you can do is reciprocate.”

      “No, the very least I can do is sit here until you tire of my presence and confess, however…”

      “Yes?”

      “As you do not typically attempt to form friendships, I am… concerned that Lestrade is going to be your… test subject.”

Ah, interesting point.

      “It is a valid concern, I suppose, however, I can assure you that is not my specific intent.  I truly hope that Gregory and I can gain some measure of a relationship beyond that of passing acquaintance and am not seeking to use him as a stepping stone to something better in the future.”

      “Given the riffraff with whom you associate, I do not see _how_ you could do better than Lestrade.”

Now, that was something the Detective Inspector would dearly love to hear, though Sherlock would be mortified if he shared the information.  Perhaps one day, when there was… anything tangible between them, he might let that bit of information pass on to the man who would appreciate greatly hearing the sentiment.

      “I shall say ‘thank you’ for Gregory’s sake and ask if we may now let the matter rest.”

      “No.”

      “Oh dear lord… what now?”

      “Why are you avoiding mentioning that you are romantically attracted to him?”

No… that was _not_ what Sherlock had said.  The auditory hallucination was the product of a stroke or aneurism that had sent his mental biochemistry into chaos.

      “I… I do believe you are now engaging in sophomoric shenanigans, brother, and further believe it is time to escort you to the door.”

      “Why bother to deny it?  Your lust presents clearly every time you see him.”

      “Again, I shall accuse you of attempting to involve me in some form of ludicrous verbal pranking.”

      “John thinks I have no awareness of such things, but he is sadly mistaken.  Normally, I simply do not care, but I _can_ discern the clear signs of attraction and you are _most_ attracted to the Detective Inspector, something I have known for quite some time.  I am curious as to why you have waited until this point to begin taking steps to satisfy that particular urge.”

La la la la la… my, the silence in the room was peaceful and soothing.  Not the slightest sound to disrupt the harmony of the blessed, blessed quiet…

      “Your response?”

Really, all evenings should be this pleasant.  Normally, a bit of classical music was the soundtrack of choice for a relaxing evening, however this unblemished silence was a delightful change of pace.

      “Have you died?”

A small amount of brandy would complement this blissful hush very successfully, as would a warming fire.  Spending a night in solitude, surrounded by the calm of silence was now his favorite activity.

      “Cowardice does not merit brandy!”

Mycroft snorted as the decanter was ripped from his hands and he refused to admit the beginnings of a sulk coming on.

      “You can sulk in the cold!”

Now it was the fireplace poker that leapt from his hand, leaving Mycroft to stare at the dwindling embers of his last vestige of fantasy.

      “Sherlock… this ridiculous notion of yours…”

      “Why is it ridiculous?  If Lestrade is suitable for friendship and you find him sexually appealing, why is he not a candidate for romance?  You have settled for far less interesting specimens in the past.”

He had died!  This was hell and he was now writhing in torment in its foul and agonizing pits… however, perhaps not.

      “You would approve?”

      “I would think my approval was unnecessary, but if that is what is retarding your advances to Lestrade, then take it and begin.”

This had to be a trick.  Sherlock was never this accommodating…

      “Not that I am admitting your assertion is correct, but I am surprised that the idea of such a thing is not… abhorrent to you, brother dear.”

      “That implies some interest in your life, which, of course, is ludicrous, as well as in Lestrade’s, which is even more nonsensical.”

Sherlock’s looking at everything in the room except his brother, however, told Mycroft that was not quite the full story.

      “That I find believable, however… is there something, additionally, you would like to share with me?”

      “Is there something, additionally, you would like to share with _me_?”

      “Are you now part parrot?”

      “Are you now part chicken?”

      “That was certainly uncalled for.”

      “I respond thusly – that was certainly called for.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “Mycroft…”

The brothers engaged in a staring contest, much like two cats silently waging war for a prime patch of sunlight, until Sherlock finally flicked some brandy in Mycroft’s face, grinning at his sputtering victory.

      “That was criminally unsporting.  And you nearly spotted my jacket.”

      “I demand my spoils and you will provide them or your jacket will not be the only thing spotted.  Your tie, for example, looks particularly elegant this evening…”

Barbarian.  But… this entire conversation was not at all what he had predicted and this most recent turn was highly curious, though fascinating.  As greatly as he did not want to do this, making Sherlock’s desired confession might win more for him than what he would lose in humiliation.

      “Very well.  If it is possible for my growing relationship with Gregory to take a romantic turn, I would not be sorry for the fact.”

      “Damn.  You did not burst into flames.”

      “I am sorry to disappoint you.”

Not that his brother appeared disappointed.  In fact, the slightest ghost of a grin had lit across Sherlock’s lips during his revelation, something that was profoundly unexpected, yet strangely heartening.

      “Since I am proven right in my observations, I will be magnanimous and forgive you.”

      “And, since I have provided you the information you desired, you will now provide the same.  Why are you, in any manner, supportive of a romantic relationship between Gregory and me?”

      “Oh look, I do believe it is time I return home.”

      “Incorrect.  Kindly reveal yourself and do so will all possible transparency.”

      “I would then be naked and invisible and I don’t think that will gain you what you seek.”

      “Highly amusing.  And, for encouragement, do realize that I have a rather atrociously-flavored and disgracefully-cerise cherry liqueur I stock for visits by a certain ambassador who finds such things palatable and that would do a far better job of spotting than my exquisite brandy.  Your white shirt, for example, looks particularly elegant this evening…”

      “You wouldn’t dare!”

      “The melon liqueur in yon cabinet would truly creative a festive tableau in combination with the cherry, would you agree?”

      “Spare me your artistic aspirations!  For your information… Lestrade has deplorable taste in romantic partners and it is time he associated with someone who is less inclined to use him, faithful, possessed of a modicum of intelligence… I would prefer to add own a sense of humor, but one cannot be too greedy.”

And the protectiveness surges… with an alarming perception of _him_.  Truly, this was most unprecedented.

      “And… you believe that person is me?”

      “Not necessarily, but as you are presenting yourself as a candidate and Lestrade has not shown any unwarranted prejudice towards elephants, then you might do.”

Mycroft had no idea how to respond because, in full honesty, he had thought Sherlock would be an utter infant about the situation and throw the most typhoonic of tantrums were he to learn there was any possible flirtation, let alone romance, occurring between him and the Detective Inspector.  Apparently, his brother’s mind on the subject had evaded prediction…

      “I see… so it is for Gregory’s well-being that you would view this as a positive association.”

      “It is certainly not for yours.  Although, if someone does not take you in hand and find for you a romantic partner, you will certainly continue down your familiar path of failure.”

Oh good heavens, he was sleeping again!  He had to be.  Sherlock… Sherlock was attempting to be helpful!  This was certainly a dream… there was no other possibility.

      “Why are you pinching yourself?”

      “What?  Oh, do pardon me, Sherlock, I simply… thought for a moment there was an insect on my person.”

      “Your house exists in a sterile field that is lethal to all life forms not properly immunized to your tedium, so I doubt your rather pathetic lie.”

      “Pish and tosh.  And, for your edification, I have a robust history of securing romantic interests.”

      “If by robust, you mean weedy and limp, then yes.”

      “Entirely untrue.”

      “Let’s see… with whom shall I begin destroying your lackluster attempt at fabrication.  The barrister with the grip as weak as a toddler’s or the banker who still lived at home with his mother?”

Yes, well… in anyone’s romantic history, there were a few less-than-successful stories…

      “Be that as it may…”

      “Your reach has been for convenient men of acceptable appearance, breeding and intellect who do not make you wish to vomit every time you are in their presence.  That is pitiful in and of itself, however, that I have been forced, on the unholy occasion to socialize with them, is irredeemably intolerable.  I see an effective and efficient means to an end that I desire and I expect that means to be implemented with full force and at the earliest possible opportunity.  Where are you taking Lestrade for your first date?”

And Sherlock termed _him_ nosy… good heavens, but his brother was being intrusive this evening…

      “Whereas I appreciate your interest, Sherlock…”

      “I will have to properly vet any plan you have for wooing Lestrade for your sense of romance is similar to that of a concrete block.”

Sherlock was involving himself!  They were, again, in the realm of disaster!  Intrusive had been a blessing compared to this!  This must be nipped in the proverbial, lest that bud wither on the vine… oh, good heavens… he was so fuddled he was mixing metaphors…

      “I believe I am able to craft a companionable evening, should the need arise, and your evaluation of my plans is not necessary.  But, Sherlock… I really must implore you not to broach any of this with John or, more obviously, Gregory.  He and I are not at the point where romantic intentions are to be explored and it is exceedingly possible that undue attention calling to our activities, let alone blatant interrogation, will erase any possibility that we move beyond the cordial.”

      “Lestrade will heed my advice on this matter as he does any, for he properly recognizes my genius.”

      “No!  No, Sherlock… this is a delicate matter and I will not have you browbeat Gregory and make him feel uncomfortable about continuing on this path that has seen the fewest of steps.  At this stage, there has been nothing risked, so retreating those few steps would be a simple thing indeed.”

Mycroft weathered Sherlock’s thunderous scowl, then his brother’s snort of affected burden.

      “If I must content myself with the stagnant role of the observer to salve your rather juvenile hand-wringing, then I suppose there is nothing for it but to demand regular reports on your progress.  I will visit you at my convenience to hear your recitations.”

Sherlock launched himself off the sofa and marched towards the study door, with Mycroft quickly following to ensure his brother actually left and didn’t take the opportunity to plant surveillance devices to supplement his other sources of information for his and Gregory’s relationship.  There was no question the meddler would actively spy, but if Sherlock was as committed to seeing this succeed as he seemed to be, that spying would not be of the sort to alert Gregory or John as to his intentions.

      “Well… I would say thank you for this visit, Sherlock, but will let the term ‘begone’ serve as your farewell, instead.”

      “If this had been a convivial experience for me, I would accept your thanks, but will let the term ‘soul-crushing’ serve as your farewell, instead.”

Sherlock pulled open the door and began to leave, stopping just beyond the threshold to turn back to his brother and lock their eyes firmly.

      “This is a unique opportunity, Mycroft.  Do not let it slip through your fingers.”

With that startling bit of forthrightness, Sherlock started off to find a cab and Mycroft triple locked the door to prevent his brother returning to discuss some new idea that had sprung to mind for his courtship of the Detective Inspector.  If courting Gregory _was_ his intent.  That, of course, had not been decided by any stretch of the imagination.  Even if it _had_ , he had not _officially_ officially decided to commence the courting process and the concept of a first date was utterly irrelevant at this point in time.  Though, in the interests of efficiency, he likely _should_ have a portfolio of ideas gathered and wasn’t the Detective Inspector of his alternate life a kind individual to divulge the Detective Inspector of his reality’s favorite location for a flavorful Italian meal?  Not that it would be useful for ages of time yet, if ever, but efficiency for its own sake was certainly a noble goal…


	10. Chapter 10

Soft, comfortable pyjamas?  Yes.  Alarm set, primarily for appearances sake?  Yes.  Bed sporting fresh, coolly-fragrant sheets?  Yes.  Any of it making him feel more secure about falling to sleep?  No.  Already his night had been perturbed in the most unpredictable way by his brother and he had no desire for his infernal dreams to wreak their havoc on his overtaxed mind.  Perhaps, as with so many nights, sleep would elude him and he could consider the effort officially made before spending the hours until dawn at his desk…

~~~~~

      “Mycroft!  And holding sacks!  If this is going to be a pattern, I have to say it’s one I highly approve of!”

      “Given your condition, Gregory, I decided that it was not amiss to see you with a nourishing meal to end your day.  I know you are fond of Thai, so I hope my offering will be an acceptable one.”

      “Since I can smell it and my mouth is already watering, I would say acceptable is certainly my vote.  Of course, it could be something else that’s making my mouth water, but I’ll say food for now and leave myself the option of changing my mind later.”

      “Such a flirtatious man you are, Detective Inspector.  And not a whit am I bothered by the fact.  Here, let us see you seated.  I had, actually, hoped to simply knock and admit myself, however, you were faster than my intentions.”

      “Magic.  I contracted magic and antibiotics aren’t doing a thing to clear it up.”

      “You poor man.  Perhaps a full stomach will make you too heavy to teleport.”

      “Always willing to try.  But, it’s getting easier with these crutches, so my magical powers aren’t really terribly necessary.  Oh, we need plates…”

      “Something I shall gather, along with beverages, so do make yourself comfortable and allow me to tend to matters.”

      “Normally I’d say I could stand on my own two feet, but I can’t actually do that right now and, I have to say, it’s a treat to have someone taking care of me like this.  And the identity of the someone is certainly a factor in my thinking.”

      “Flatterer.  Ah… yes, you do have a very palatable beer in stock.  Would you like that or another libation?”

      “Beer!  Thai and beer is a close thing to heaven.”

      “Then to heaven we shall go.  Just few more moments… cutlery… an accounting that the plates are equitable so you do not complain you have been shortchanged…”

      “I would, too!  Nothing worse than having a bite and the other person’s got a bigger bite than yours.”

      “I will assure you that my bite is perfectly sized for your satisfaction.”

      “I bet it is.”

      “About that I would not lie.  And… here.  One plate of delectable food and one excellent beer to accompany it.”

      “This looks great, Mycroft… oooooohhhhhhh, it tastes great, too.  Good food, good beer, good company… this is the life.  Speaking of life, how have you been?  Three days, kind sir, since I’ve been graced by your good humor and sparkling personality.”

      “I do apologize, however, my good humor and sparking personality have been under assault and it has been a devil of a time fighting back the purveyors of gloom and doom.”

      “Let me guess… work or Sherlock.  Or both.”

      “Well spotted.  Sherlock’s behavior has certainly been of interest in recent days, however, I cannot say I am distressed by the direction of his nonsense.  More it is matters of state which have had a particularly infuriating tone of late.  The irritation of buffoonery is never a pleasant thing, but some days are surely worse than others.”

      “I’d say you could send all the buffoons to Siberia, but that’s the other side of the Cold War, isn’t it?”

      “Quite.  The best I could muster would be the Orkneys and my nemeses certainly do not deserve the scenic nature of that particular exile.’

      “Well, just make sure they can’t enjoy food this good and that should be punishment enough.  Really this is fantastic and I can’t say I’ve not been craving something fantastic, what with making do with a bit of toast and eggs because I am an incredibly lazy man who can’t be bothered to do any proper cooking.”

      “Why do I suspect that is somewhat of a lie.  Is it more, perhaps, that your characteristic flair in the kitchen has been hampered by your recently limited mobility?”

      “You’ve caught me out!  I do like cooking, actually, when I have the time.  But, yeah… it’s bollocks right now to wrestle crutches with these ribs, let alone stir pots and shake pans.  Once they’re healed up a bit more, I can get some groceries in and have something green on my plate when I sit down for dinner.  Shouldn’t be too long now, though.  Already they’re feeling better than when I first got home, so just a few more days and I’ll be cooking up a feast.  I’ll let you know when I’m ready and you can celebrate my newfound freedom with me.  Fancy a home-prepared meal by yours truly?”

      “I would be delighted!  Already I am powerfully intrigued, and honored, by the offer.”

      “Then it’s settled.  I can’t do a job like the lot who made this amazing Thai banquet, but it’ll be filling, at the very least.  Thanks, Mycroft.  That’s going to be a lot of fun.”

      “It is I who must offer thanks, Gregory, and do let me know if there is anything I can do to facilitate your artistry.”

      “I will.  A bottle of wine, maybe, once I decide what I’ll make?”

      “The perfect thing.  I am looking most forward to this; it shall be a stellar evening, I have no doubt.”

“Neither do I.  And, to think, I was feeling a bit out of sorts, myself, today.  Well, that’s a thing of the past.”

      “Dear me, I hope it was not a serious matter.”

      “No, not really.  Just a few cases that they’re reassigning because I’m on the lame and lazy list.  One, in particular, bothers me, but only because we put so much work into it already.  That double-murder of the mother and daughter that was in the papers a bit ago.  I thought we were finally getting somewhere on it, but, I guess that’s someone else’s problem now.”

      “A feeling with which I can sympathize.   There was a time, lo, a century or so ago, when I had a more, shall we say, _active_ position and it was a scathing sensation to find one reassigned from a situation in which one had invested a great deal of time and effort.”

      “Now that is a century I’d love to know more about!  Any stories you can share?”

      “A few might have moved from classified status to something more discussable.”

      “Then I want to hear all about it.  All I have is a double murder to trade, but I can add in a locked-room art theft to sweeten the pot.”

      “Is that all, Gregory?  For my thrilling tales of espionage, I would demand the sweetest of pots.”

      “Negotiation, is it?  I’ve got no problem with that.  How about…”

Lestrade crooked his finger to motion Mycroft over on the sofa and leaned in the rest of the way to take Mycroft’s lips in a kiss that was soft as a petal of a freshly-bloomed flower.

      “I’ll add that to my bid.  For now.”

As well as a small lick of my lips to savor the taste of you, Mr. Holmes, which is as delicious as the look on your face while you watch me do it.

      “Most sweet, Gregory.  And most succulent.  Might we, again, engage in negotiation if _two_ tales can be dredged from the vast cabinetry of the top secret government vaults?”

      “Of course.  I suspect your stories will be particularly… exciting… so I’ll certainly strive to keep the pot sweet as I’m able.”

      “I do feel, though, that a bit more sugar upon my tongue at this point will help me orate in my most… stimulating… fashion.”

      “I believe I can oblige you.  Never let it be said I let your tongue suffer neglect when I could do something about it…”

~~~~~

This time, Mycroft’s clock did meet an untimely demise as he sent it flying across the room when it blared like a foghorn in his ear.  Damnable alarm!  Why did it choose to wake him now?  NOW!  Of all times… when he could… the warm, exhilarating feel of Gregory’s lips upon his… he could have luxuriated in more than the barest whisper of a taste.  Though that taste was positively _intoxicating_.  How often had he envisioned the moment when he would kiss Gregory and nothing, not a single of those fantasies, could compare with the reality… or its reasonable facsimile.  Already… no, no mention would be made of his anatomy’s response to the sensuousness of Gregory’s kiss, save it was profound and… demanding.

Well, it would receive no attention to its demands and should simply settle itself back to rest, for the day would not wait for its shenanigans.  Good heavens, if this was his visceral reaction to a simple kiss what would… no, that train of thought would simply increase the force of certain demands and there was no time to spare for… concessions.  However…

Mycroft quickly prepared himself for the day and raced down to his study to snatch the small wish book out of his safe and flipped to the last filled page.  Feeling a very uncharacteristic spark of glee that his dream had been duly recorded, Mycroft allowed himself a moment to sit and re-read the encounter, including the final piece his infernal alarm had interrupted…

_“I do feel, though, that a bit more sugar upon my tongue at this point will help me orate in my most… stimulating… fashion.”_

_“I believe I can oblige you.  Never let it be said I let your tongue suffer neglect when I could do something about it…”_

_And there, again, was the Detective Inspector’s lips against his, softly, at first, then with an increasing pressure as he explored and tested the waters to go further.  Sensing those waters were welcoming ones, the kiss deepened, with thick fingers caressing his cheek while he savored the taste and feel of Gregory’s tongue meeting his own.  Each motion was exactly that for which he’d longed, the kiss utterly perfect and, when it was over, his heart grew seeing the enraptured look in Gregory’s eyes…_

It was entirely inappropriate for a man his age to be giddy, but… enraptured!  And the most perfect of sultry kisses ever to grace his lips!  His alternate self was looked upon with ardor, with passion… but…

His alternate self was him!  Well, not _him_ , per se, but a possible him.  The wished-for him.  The man he had, in a startling moment of honest, hoped to be.  And, if he was to have another startling moment of honesty… he had seen some of that hope realized.  He had let a deeply buried part of himself peek out into the sunshine and found reward from the lowering of his barriers.  Sherlock’s approval had been won, for heaven’s sake!  If there was greater evidence that his feeble efforts were not in vain, it was surely that.

Well, that and the delicious contents of his dream.  If he could but let more of his hidden self out for Gregory’s sake, he would gain that wondrous moment of affection.  Which, with no doubt, it was.  Not simply lust, but affection.  It was what he had prayed one day he might have with the Detective Inspector and… now there existed a chance.  The slimmest of possibilities, perhaps, but slim was more than none in every possible mathematical system, so he would claim the achievement proudly.  And he would take advice where advice was being given.  Conversation, camaraderie and caring.  Be the friend to Gregory that his dream self so easily demonstrated and, soon, affection could be his.  Please, dear self, do not cock this up.  There are only so many chances given in the universe and your allotment is certainly near the bottom of the proverbial barrel…

__________

Three days… three of the most aggravating days in the history of the world.  Yes, that may have been an overstatement of the situation, however, he was the one aggrieved, so his description was the only one that counted.  Ridiculous alternate reality of his dreams… why was it ever correct about such things?  Not that he would take a step to make modifications, though… the perils of that particular path had been made punishingly clear to him.  Fortunately, though, the storm clouds had passed on schedule and now… well, it was the choice at the crossroads, was it not?  He could simply return home for a quiet evening alone; that was a rather attractive option, was it not?  Or, do that, but add a small phone conversation with Gregory to ascertain the status of his recuperation and demonstrate concern.  Again, an option that held merit.  Thirdly, a brief visit on his way to his quiet evening alone to pay his respects and verify that Gregory lacked for nothing, in terms of health and comfort.

Finally and fourthly, there was the possibility of a less-than-brief visit that more closely mirrored that of his dream.  Only in the providing of a meal, of course, certainly there would be no expectation of anything further.  The retribution of the Fates did not seem to apply to the personal moments spent with the Detective Inspector, so any of those choices would pass muster and all would have a positive outcome for him.  One, however, offered more positivity than the others, though it was, unsurprisingly, the one most fraught with peril.  Well, never let it be said he approached life with anything other than a wellspring of courage.  That this applied in no manner to his interactions with Gregory happily would be ignored for now…

__________

Sacks of food – yes.  Jacket left in the car so that he presented slightly more casually than the norm when leaving work – yes.  Basic reconnaissance for status of brotherly spying completed – yes.  Very well… knock on door and cross all relevant fingers and toes…

“Mycroft!  And holding sacks!  If this is going to be a pattern, I have to say it’s one I highly approve of!”

      “Given your condition, Gregory, I decided that it was not amiss to see you with a nourishing meal to end your day.  I know you are fond of Thai, so I hope my offering will be an acceptable one.”

      “Since I can smell it and my mouth is already watering, I would say acceptable is certainly my vote.  Please come in… this is terribly nice of you, Mycroft.  Both the food and the company are highly welcome.”

The sincerity in your voice is purely genuine, Gregory, which warms my heart and stills my nerves as nothing else in this world possibly could.

      “That is most kind of you to say.  Here, though, let us see you seated.  I had, actually, hoped to simply knock and admit myself, however, you were faster than my intentions.”

      “Magic.  I contracted magic and antibiotics aren’t doing a thing to clear it up.”

Did he remember his line?  Claiming to forget would be rather disingenuous given his eidetic memory, so follow the dialogue and let it guide your evening.

      “You poor man.  Perhaps a full stomach will make you too heavy to teleport.”

      “Always willing to try.  But, it’s getting easier with these crutches, so my magical powers aren’t really terribly necessary.  Oh, we need plates…”

      “Gregory, you should be resting, so I shall attend to that, along with beverages.”

      “Normally I’d say I could stand on my own two feet, but I can’t actually do that right now and, I have to say, it’s a treat to have someone taking care of me like this.  John stopped in last night and told me to sod off when I very politely asked him to refill my scotch.  Of course, the ‘you bastard’ I added at the end might not have fit in very well with politeness.”

And, the day before, it had been several members from Gregory’s team.  The Detective Inspector was being looked after by his friends and that was something for which to be very thankful.  Perhaps his current surveillance measures might not be as necessary as he believed, not that he would see them dismantled, however, it was something to consider for the future, should another calamity befall dear Gregory.

      “Yes, that would surely have muddied the proverbial waters.  Ah… yes, you do have a very palatable beer in stock.  Would you like that with your meal or is another libation more to your liking?”

      “Beer!  Thai and beer is a close thing to heaven.”

Moving along nicely… all oars in the water, so to speak…

      “Then to heaven we shall go.  Now, let me see… we require cutlery and a thorough accounting that the plates are equitable so you do not complain you have been shortchanged…”

      “I would, too!  Nothing worse than having a bite and the other person’s got a bigger bite than yours.”

And… we lift the oars and sail past the temptation, for some things, at this point, were certainly not on the list of approved utterances…

      “True, and, as a man of the law, I suspect you are an ardent advocate of equity.”

      “I am!  Whole day ruined when I’ve got the smallest portion of chips at the lunch table.”

      “A hideously horrendous fate, I am certain… here.  One plate of delectable and fairly-portioned food and one excellent beer to accompany it.”

      “This looks great, Mycroft… oooooohhhhhhh, it tastes great, too.  Good food, good beer, good company… this is the life.  Speaking of life, how have you been?  I’ll be honest and say I’d hoped you’d stop in for another visit, but I know how busy you can be.”

Please, dear blood, continue to flow, though your usual pump has ceased to operate.  Gregory had missed him.  Had been hopeful for another collegial visit.  That was an unequivocal mark of friendship, was is not?  Yes, it was.  At the very least.  What a truly felicitous admission!

      “I do apologize, however, my attention has been under assault and it has been a devil of a time fighting back the purveyors of gloom and doom who laid upon it a mighty siege.”

Was that clever?  Or sadly ridiculous?  Why were these things never obvious to him?

      “HAH!  What a terrible thing… truly sounds painful.  Let me guess… work or Sherlock.  Or both.”

Oars happily splashing in the crystal waters of warm and placid seas!

      “Astutely analyzed.  Sherlock’s behavior has certainly been of interest in recent days, however, I cannot say I am distressed by the direction of his nonsense.  More it is matters of state which have had a particularly infuriating tone of late.  The irritation of buffoonery is never a pleasant thing, but some days are surely worse than others.”

How convenient was it to have a prepared speech in hand for visits to the Detective Inspector.  Some on-the-spot editing was required, of course, but it did make social interaction a far smoother process.

      “I’d say you could send all the buffoons to Siberia, but that’s the other side of the Cold War, isn’t it?”

      “Quite.  The best I could muster would be the Orkneys and my nemeses certainly do not deserve the scenic nature of that particular exile.’

      “That _is_ some lovely country and any bastard who brings his buffoonery to bear on your days doesn’t merit a speck of kindness.  Actually, just make sure they can’t enjoy food this good and that should be punishment enough.  Really this is fantastic and I can’t say I’ve not been craving something fantastic, what with making do with a bit of toast and eggs because I am an incredibly lazy man who can’t be bothered to do any proper cooking.”

Here, now, was another small crossroads.  Along one trail lay a possible invitation, along the other… the lack of one.  The anxious, rather awkward part of him was voting quite loudly for the latter.  The hopefully-confident part of him was reading its manifesto in support of the former.  For now, hopefully-confident would hold sway, but here was always opportunity for anxiously-awkward to have its moment of glory at a later time.

      “Why do I suspect that is somewhat of a lie.  Is it more, perhaps, that your characteristic flair in the kitchen has been hampered by your recent lack of mobility?”

      “You’ve caught me out!  I do like cooking, actually, when I have the time.  But, yeah… it’s bollocks right now to wrestle crutches with these ribs, let alone stir pots and shake pans.  Once they’re healed up a bit more, I can get some groceries in and have something green on my plate when I sit down for dinner.  I don’t think it’ll be much longer before that happens, though.  They’re feeling a good bit better than when I came home, so a few more days ought to do it and I’ll be cooking up a feast.  I’ll let you know when I’m ready and you can celebrate my newfound culinary freedom with me.  Fancy a home-prepared meal by yours truly?”

IT HAD ARRIVED!  Oh dear… he had harbored a small hope that this portion of the visit would be sidestepped, but no… there it was, it its unabashed forthrightness.  There was no possible misinterpretation, no potential for double-speak or ulterior meanings.  Gregory had invited him to dinner.  Yes, the fragrance of friendship was still perfuming the moment, however… hell and be damned!  Friendship was more than he should expect from such a scintillating man and if the remainder of this visit failed to follow that of his dream, then he would take what he had won and raise it into the air like a victory trophy.

      “I… I would be most honored, Gregory.  It is an invitation I greatly appreciate.”

      “Great!  Then it’s settled.  I can’t do a job like the lot who made this amazing Thai banquet, but it’ll be filling, at the very least.  Thanks, Mycroft.  That’s going to be a lot of fun.”

      “It is I who must offer thanks, Gregory, deep and most sincere thanks, and do let me know if there is anything I can do to facilitate your preparations.”

      “I will.  Oh, I have an idea.  How about a bottle of wine, maybe, once I decide what I’ll make?”

      “A very wise suggestion and one I shall be happy to carry out.  I am looking most forward to this; it shall be a stellar evening, I have no doubt”

Express more enthusiasm.  Gregory has offered to toil through his infirmity to see you fed, so reward him properly.

“And I have full confidence that your talents in the kitchen are formidable, so the meal shall be as enjoyable as the company.”

“Now, that’s a compliment I’ll put in my pocket to keep!   And, to think, I was feeling a bit out of sorts, myself, today.  Well, that’s a thing of the past and good riddance to it.”

      “Dear me, I hope it was not a serious matter.”

      “No, not really.  Just a few cases that they’re reassigning because I’m on the lame and lazy list.  One, in particular, bothers me, but only because we put so much work into it already.  That double-murder of the mother and daughter that was in the papers a bit ago.  Did you notice that one?  I thought we were finally making some real progress on it, but, I guess that’s someone else’s problem now.”

And the final crossroads is reached.  The safe path was an outstanding one.  A joyful night with Gregory and the promise of a dinner on the horizon.  The perilous path… it could either bring him something he desperately desired or… well, the potential for something bumbled to the point of lethal embarrassment was exceedingly high.  Perhaps he could take a few additional steps along the more dangerous route and test these new and unfamiliar waters…

      “A feeling with which I can sympathize.   There was a time, lo, a century or so ago, when I had a more, shall we say, _active_ position and it was a scathing sensation to find one reassigned from a situation in which one had invested a great deal of time and effort.”

      “Now that is a century I’d love to know more about!  Any stories you can share?  The juicier the better, if you please.”

      “I believe there might be a few that have moved from classified status to something more in the public domain.”

      “Then I want to hear all about it.  All I have is a double murder to trade, but I can add in a locked-room art theft to sweeten the pot.”

Too many steps!  Oh dear… this was not a crossroads, this was a cliff face.  He could either retreat like a frightened sparrow or spread his wings and lake a leap of faith.  His dream was very clear on what Gregory desired, where this would go… if that was also his desire then why be tentative?  No, there would be no frightened sparrow tonight!  Tonight he took to the air and soared…

      “Is that all, Gregory?  For my thrilling tales of espionage, I would demand the sweetest of pots.”

      “Negotiation, is it?  I’ve got no problem with that.  How about…”

Lestrade crooked his finger and Mycroft eagerly leaned in, laying a kiss on the Detective Inspector’s lips, taking it further than in the dream because… it was transcendent.  He wanted to weep at the power of the small action, how it seemed to seal every crack in his sad psyche and filled his core with a warmth that would keep forever away the cold fingers of self-doubt.  And, a look into his darling Gregory’s eyes… his darling Gregory’s shocked and confused eyes… oh dear.

      “Ok… well, I was going to suggest another beer or glass of whisky, but… yeah.  I’ll take that, too.”

Oh no.  Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no…

      “Mycroft?”

Why?  Where had… that was not supposed… this was a disaster!   

      “Mycroft?  Are you ok?”

Must leave.  Must leave now.  Must go and never, _ever_ return…

      “I… I do apologize, Detective Inspector.  That was unforgivable of me.  I believe… yes, I believe it is best I take my leave.  Good evening to you.”

Mycroft shot out of his seat, nearly knocking over the sofa table and started for the door as fast as he could without running, leaving Lestrade to race after him as quickly as his body would allow.

      “WAIT!  Mycroft, just wait!  Bollocks!”

Despite his desperation to leave, Mycroft whirled at the sharp tone of the last of Lestrade’s words and paled seeing the pain etched into Greg’s features.

      “Gregory!  Oh, Gregory, you have hurt yourself.”

Nothing could have stopped him from dashing back to help the DI to the sofa for nothing was more important than Lestrade’s health and safety, not even the crippling humiliation that was tearing at his organs like an infuriated bird of prey.

      “You must be careful, Gregory.  Your body should not have to endure such insult at this tender stage of healing.”

      “W…worth it.  Got you back to me, didn’t it?”

      “Immaterial.”

      No… can’t say that’s true.”

      “I can.  Now, where is your pain medication?  Do you require a doctor?  Shall I phone John?”

Lestrade stared at his guest and read every bit of embarrassment and blinding worry on Mycroft’s face.  Things had certainly taken an unexpected turn this evening, but it was absolutely a turn that had his full and enthusiastic approval.  Just had to gentle the startled horse in the room and maybe things could keep going in this particularly lovely direction.

      “My pills are in the bedroom.  No, I don’t need a doctor.  Don’t call John unless you don’t believe me on how many of my pills I can have.  Which I’d really like now, please, if you’re willing to get them.”

That set Mycroft in motion to find the small vial of pills which he promptly presented to Lestrade after opening the cap so the DI did not have to further strain himself.

      “There we go.  Two of these little buggers washed down by a mouthful of beer.  So sketchy I almost want to arrest myself.  Now… want to tell me what’s wrong?”

No.  Not in this lifetime or any.  He had so dismally misconstrued the situation.  Damn his dream!  This was likely the curse that had been brewing since the inception of this horrid business.  Ruin everything.  Raise his hopes as high as possible, then dash them on the rocks below the cliff of which he had taken his misstep.

      “Nothing.  Are you certain you do not wish for me to phone John?  Perhaps a simple check that you have not done yourself further damage?”

      “The only damage here is in your brain because… Mycroft, are you worried I’m angry at you?”

Angry, no?  Disappointed and disgusted, yes.

      “Again, immaterial.”

      “Wrong.  Dead and buried wrong.  I’m not angry.  I’m not upset at all!  Well, except for these fucking ribs.  I’d… look, I’m thrilled you made the first move, actually.  I wasn’t… I was miserably worried that I was making mistake after mistake because it seemed that no matter what I tried, I could scarcely get three words out of you.  Then… well, things began to change, didn’t they and I thought that maybe, in time, this sort of thing would happen, but I had no idea when to try or how to get there or… or if it was anything you’d ever want with a man like me anyway.”

Ridiculous.  How could Gregory believe, for an instant, that he was anything less than a supreme prize that any man or woman would feel privileged to have as their own.  The poor man must truly be in pain for his mind to be so addled.  He had not been hesitant or clumsy in his words and actions.  That had been _his_ particular forte and…

      “You’re lost in your head, again, aren’t you?  Come here…”

This time, it was Lestrade who leaned forward, despite the pain in his ribs, and laid a gentle kiss on Mycroft’s lips, just the softest of touches to reassure the man coming apart at the seams that kissing was something right at the top of the approved-advances list.

      “It’s ok, it really is.  It’s what I want and, apparently, so do you.”

      “I… Gregory, this is not… I had not intended…”

Lestrade had never seen Mycroft so undone and decided something more forceful might be in order to clear the wildly frazzled mind.  Another kiss should do the trick, this one with a bit of roaming hands and the ever-so-slight slide of his tongue across Mycroft’s very luscious lips.

      “Don’t be worried I’m upset, Mycroft.  Really, nothing could be further from my mind.”

Hoping his luck would hold, Lestrade let another kiss bloom, allowing his fingers to run along Mycroft’s long neck and sighing in relief when his kiss was finally returned, albeit with an almost aching tentativeness.

      “Gregory…”

There was still a shadow of worry and uneasiness around Mycroft’s eyes, so Lestrade, as much as he hated doing it, decided it might be best to let Mycroft leave and have a little space to sort things out.

      “That was wonderful, just so you know.  And something I’m greatly looking forward to enjoying again, but… maybe you’d be a little happier right now with some breathing room?  I’m getting the idea this moved a tad fast for you and that’s alright because I don’t mind taking things slow, not at all.  You want to… well, we’ve got dinner coming soon and you can come and visit me whenever you’d like but, maybe you’d like to call it a night and have a bit of a think?”

It was brutally hard to concentrate when there were thick, strong fingers tracing patterns on his skin, but what small amount of brain power Mycroft could muster said that time to think was an exceptional idea.

      “Yes, I believe that might be wise.”

      “Alright, then.  Here, help me up and…”

      “Absolutely not!”

      “I’ll do it anyway, so you can give me a little help or watch me make a go of it on my own.  Pick one.”

As stubborn as Sherlock… though certainly not as surly…

      “Very well… but please do take care.’

Lestrade snorted and slowly made his way to his feet, leaning heavily on Mycroft’s arm for support until he was vertical and taking his crutches from Mycroft’s free hand.  Then it was a careful walk to the door where he stopped Mycroft from fleeing with a small tug on his hand to draw him back into another slow and delicate kiss.

      “I’m very happy you came here tonight, Mycroft.  Every bit of the night was fantastic and I’m already anxious to see you again so… well, like I said, you can visit whenever you’d like and I’ll let you know as soon as I’m ready to work my wonders in the kitchen.”

This kiss was on Mycroft’s cheek, though Lestrade received none in return, because Mycroft was out of the door and flying towards his car as if the signal had been given for a race to begin.  He had kissed Gregory.  He had _kissed_ Gregory!  And Gregory had been stunned, disordered, jubilant, thankful, anticipatory… it was chaotic!  And… glorious.  He had been kissed and kissed again and it was all beyond imagination.  Time… yes, he definitely required time.  This was unprecedented and unparalleled and a cornucopia of ‘un-s’ that needed reflection and evaluation before he could do another thing.  And… Archimedes’ beard!  It was night and that meant sleep which, in turn, meant… his accursed dreams had left him alone these past days but now… now, one would surely come and further discombobulate his life.  He had come to think, perhaps, they were a source of guidance, but now… now he was in no manner certain of that fact.  Perhaps a curse _was_ what he was suffering, therefore, at this point, nothing was to be taken for granted because the stakes had just skyrocketed and failure would not only hurt him, but Gregory, as well.  Reflect and evaluate… he had the time now and would make very good use of it …  his Gregory deserved nothing less.


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft’s driver reflected on how greatly he normally enjoyed being assigned to his current passenger.  The car was kept neat and tidy, there were no off- or on-duty calls to a mistress or drugs dealer, he was treated as an employee, not a servant, and instances of gross intoxication were mercifully nil.  However, today was a tad different in that handling an individual who seemed to be suffering from some form of mental fugue was not exactly something for which he was trained and Mr. Holmes was not the sort to suffer intrusions on his personal issues with any degree of gladness.  Failure to try, though, would mean sitting here parked in front of Mr. Holmes’s residence another ten minutes while his passenger stared at the nothing that was currently sitting in his lap.

      “Mr. Holmes?  Sir?  Are you… if you prefer, I can take a turn around the city while you… think… sir.”

Opting not to get out again and hold open the door for air to exit the rear of the vehicle, the driver stayed in his seat and repeated his question a few times, with an assortment of variations until something finally slithered through Mycroft’s dulled awareness and made contact with his last functioning synapse.

      “Pardon?  Oh… yes, I do apologize.  That will not be necessary.  Good evening.”

Mycroft made his way out of the car and did his utmost to appear calm and composed as he walked to his front door and closed it quickly behind him after entering his home.  Though, why he went to the trouble, he had no idea, for he had certainly appeared addle-witted during the drive from his romantic downfall.  There were vague images in his memory of questions being posed, such as where to actually go, but no concrete recollection of providing any responses.  What an imbecile he must have appeared but…

Kissing!  How could there be sharpness of wit when… kissing!  And dear Gregory… the poor man had been shocked to the core by his ardor!  And why not… the Gregory of his dreams had interacted with a Mycroft Holmes who was witty and flirtatious.  The Gregory of his reality had interacted with… him.   Certainly not witty and flirtatious was likely to make him break out in hives.  How could he have made such a catastrophic blunder?  Oh, it was an easy thing to understand if he chose to admit it.  He had wanted, _desired_ and let that blind him to the reality of their ‘relationship.’

However… kissing!  And, though his dear Gregory had not expected it in the slightest… it had been accepted.  In fact, the Detective Inspector had eagerly embraced the shift in the winds between them and… that was not something his mental algorithms had remotely predicted.  Someone who stood as the epitome of masculine beauty had been pleased with his feeble attempts at simple intimacy.  No, that was absolutely not what he would have predicted, yet the evidence was unequivocal.  Gregory had expressed in no uncertain terms, both verbal and physical, that he _wanted_ the affection being offered and, if he was not a coward, he could be enjoying that affection in any manner of ways at this very moment…

But, that was not entirely the whole of the story.  Gregory’s wisdom was entirely on the mark tonight.  He needed time to reflect upon all of this and if he had stayed, the unrest in his mind would simply have escalated to an even more embarrassing level.  Computations run rampant were not conducive to a romantic atmosphere and his Detective Inspector deserved no less should they… should they.  And he did wish, with great fervency, to give Gregory romance.  Romance, affection, intimacy… everything you offered a person who you believed had the potential to be… special.  Which was a terrifying thought on its own.  Mycroft Holmes did not have special people in his life.  Sherlock had been correct – convenient was more the pattern of his history and now… now, that pattern was primed to fracture.

If he let it.  What does one do when one’s fondest dream hovers on the edge of reality?  Dreams… they had been both a blessing and a curse of late, but it was clear that they were steering him towards something and there was truly no evidence as to whether it was a joyful or painful outcome.  His history with romantic entanglements was not the most encouraging and if there was one element in this entire quagmire about which he was absolutely certain it was that he did not want the Detective Inspector hurt.  Unfortunately, that was also the one element about which he was absolutely _uncertain_ , in terms of his ability to prevent that end.

Well, there was nothing for it but to follow Gregory’s advice and ruminate upon the situation.  The possibilities if he pursued their current trajectory were blissful in the extreme.  Or utterly devastating if, as was his tendency, he could not properly fulfil his companion’s needs and make fair contribution to their relationship.  The root of his previous failures, without doubt in his mind, lay at his feet and he could not allow Gregory to suffer that same fate.  But… what utter joy if, this single time, he could be the man in his dreams and find, for once, true happiness…

__________

      “And you’re still not dead.  How long is it going to take to finally drain your life force and send you to the grave?”

      “Nice, John.  Really, I couldn’t ask for a better mate.”

Lestrade grinned widely at the man who had pushed his way through the door of the flat, carrying the small sack with the few groceries Lestrade had asked him to stop for on his way to their visit.

      “No, no you really couldn’t.  And, for that, you’ll get my best doctor’s attitude when I give you your check.  I’ll hold a few ice cubes beforehand and use the best motor oil as lubricant for your prostate exam.”

      “My prostate is just fine, thank you very much.  Doing its… prostatey best to keep me going.  And, after my lovely bread and cheese meals today, _going_ will be what I’ll need help with because I don’t think I’ve had any fiber in days.”

      “Old man problems… happens to the best of us at some point.  And, yes, I got the bread and cheese you wanted, as well as everything else on your medically-upsetting grocery list.”

      “Medically-upsetting, but extremely tongue-pleasing.”

      “Only because you’re injured am I not going to sit you down for a lecture on proper diet, but once you’re able to prepare a real meal, that lecture _will_ be had.  I don’t want your colon or hardened arteries finishing off what that car that hit you started.”

      “I’m invincible, so sod off with your lectures.”

      “Says the man who said words I haven’t heard since the army when he reached over to pick up his book from the floor.”

      “Part of my invincibility spell.”

      “Right.  Lucky for me I have those psychological evaluation test forms in my back pocket.  We’ll get started as soon as I put away your imminent death.”

John ignored Lestrade’s rude noise as he tucked away the few groceries his friend had requested and was happy the DI hadn’t actually caught on to the fact that he was, actually, a _little_ worried.  Since he’d taken on the unofficial role of Lestrade’s personal health monitor, he’d come to have a good feel for the patterns of the man’s behavior and, one, he should need more groceries than this small order and, second, the phone calls had dropped in frequency.  Whereas bored, injured, sedentary Greg could be counted on to pick up the phone, at minimum, twice a day, in the past few that had dwindled to a concerning few.  It wasn’t entirely surprising, since it wasn’t uncommon for a patient to have a depressed period during their recovery, but it _was_ wise to keep an eye on it, so both his eyes were open wide for this particular visit.

      “Since it’s officially afternoon, care to celebrate your immortality with a lovely lager?”

      “That’s not a bad idea.  I should have a few left, but, if not, there’s plenty of scotch for us to enjoy.”

Now worrying a tiny bit more because Greg had quite a stash of visitor-donated beer the last time he was here and, unless there was a party to which he wasn’t invited, there should be more left in the flat than ‘a few.’

      “Too early for scotch.  You’re not turning to drink for your myriad of personal problems, are you?  I’ve got some pamphlets in my pocket, too, to go along with your psych eval, if you need them.”

John couldn’t miss the small flash of what looked very much like guilt in Lestrade’s eyes and prepared himself for a less-than-jolly visit.  With beer.

      “Here.  Now, you want to tell me what’s bothering you, Greg?  I may not be Sherlock, but I can put together puzzle pieces if they’re big enough and yours are definitely hefty.”

Oh, that was a frown of confession.  Apparently, it was good thing he stopped in today for a chat because it was clear his friend needed one.

      “You’re daft.  Nothing is bothering me.”

      “If you try again, you might be able to put a little sincerity in your voice.  Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

      “It’s true!”

      “Still no sincerity.  The score is Greg – 0, lies – 2.  Will our squad ever be able to recover?”

      “Funny.  And…”

      “Yes?”

      “It’s nothing really.  I suppose.  Just… maybe I had my hopes up for something and now I don’t.  Again.”

John wished he didn’t know what Lestrade was talking about, but there wasn’t much doubt about the root of the issue.

      “Problems with Mycroft?”

      “I wish I knew!  It’s all so… men my age shouldn’t have stupid relationship problems like this.  Not that we really _have_ a relationship, but…”

      “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

Lestrade scowled, but took a sip of his beer and nodded.

      “Great things, I thought.  Mycroft was really thawing… opening up and it was fantastic!  Then… he kissed me, John.  He just leaned in and kissed me and I thought my world lit up brighter than the sun.  Of course, he immediately looked like he’d made the worst mistake of his life and I really tried, I did everything I could, to reassure him that it was fine and that I liked it and wanted it… wanted _more_ of it, really, and now I haven’t heard a word from him since it happened and it’s been _days_.  We left things with him needing a little space and time, but I didn’t think he’d fall right off the radar!  I’ve sent a few texts to just say hello and not a one has been answered.  Guess he didn’t like what he tasted once he had a second to think about it.”

      “Oh.  Well, I admit I wasn’t expecting that.  Really, he kissed you?”

      “With no warning!  Just did it and… well, it doesn’t do a man’s ego a lot of good to have the person who kissed him go into hiding after the fact.”

      “Could it be… is Mycroft even in the country?  Maybe he did one of his super-secret vanishing acts and can’t answer you for… reasons.”

      “I thought about that and maybe it’s true.  Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but my record with him isn’t very good and this really is a stellar fit for our normal pattern.”

      “Yeah, I can’t deny that.  There’s another option… Sherlock said it had been a long time since he’s been involved with anyone.  He could have gotten scared, as hard as it is to picture Mycroft Holmes scared of anything.  A normal person might and maybe he had a normal moment for once in his life.”

      “I thought about that, too, and _that_ I can actually believe.  You should have seen him that night, John.  There _was_ fear in his eyes.  I tried to do something about it, but… I guess I didn’t do enough.”

      “Don’t think that way, Greg.  There may not have been anything you _could_ do.  It’s sad, but I can see Mycroft being honestly afraid of anything real, for personal things.  He’s got that way about him, that attitude and manner that keeps everyone a league away from him at all times.  Having someone make their way past the barricades and through the minefield has to be worrying.”

John watched Lestrade take a long sip of his beer and wished there was more he could do to reassure the DI that everything was not as dire as it seemed.  But, since it _might_ be as dire as it seemed, being too optimistic wasn’t helpful either.

      “Then he shouldn’t have kissed me first, the bastard.”

      “I’ll agree with that, but Sherlock can be that way, too.  He thinks he can handle something and realizes, usually at the worst possible moment, that he can’t.  We _almost_ had sex twice before we _actually_ had sex because he thought he was ready to go and then found that he wasn’t.  And I did the same as you, trying to reassure him that it was alright and not put on any pressure so he’d stress even further.  Eventually, he felt comfortable enough to let me get my hands on that luscious body of his.”

      “I think I’m going to be sick.”

      “Shut it, you.  Just don’t forget that Sherlock and Mycroft are brothers, whether they act like it or not, so it stands to reason that they’d share some of the same traits.  But, if Mycroft _was_ spooked, there’s no reason it means forever.  It could just mean for the moment.”

      “That may be true, but if I don’t see him again, it’s all irrelevant.”

      “Maybe, but I wouldn’t give up hope yet.  For all he tries to be enigmatic, Sherlock’s emotions are a lot closer to the surface than Mycroft’s, so it may take more time for Big Brother to find his footing.  Actually, it’s flattering, if you think about it.  When I asked Sherlock about Mycroft’s previous romances, he made it sound fairly blah.  I think if Mycroft made a fuss like this for those, Sherlock would gladly have said so just to be evil.  It says something, Greg.  I really think it does.”

      “It _is_ a nice thought, isn’t it?”

      “And there’s no reason it isn’t the truth.  It makes sense, in a sad sort of way, so don’t keep fretting about it.  You need to focus on resting and letting yourself mend.  It’s not as if you can have your filthy way with Mycroft right now anyway.”

      “Oh, I could find a way.”

      “Right.  I forgot who I was talking to.  So… daytime telly?”

      “Speaking of sad…”

      “You know you’re already addicted.”

      “Also sad.”

      “But we’ve got beer.”

      “That does make life better.”

      “Always.”

__________

      “Finally.  I was beginning to believe that Lestrade had taken you hostage.”

John smiled and admired Sherlock’s pout.  It was a good feeling to know you were missed.

      “No, he’d have to feed me and supervise me in the loo and I can’t imagine Greg doing either of those things.”

      “You have a point.  Regardless, now that you are home, you can help me with my experiment.”

      “Is it disgusting?”

      “By whose standard?”

      “Ok, then my answer is no.”

      “Your squeamishness is entirely hypocritical given your choice of profession, John.”

      “Woe is me.  Guess I’ll have to move in with my previously-established-not-kidnapper Greg instead so the stench of my hypocrisy doesn’t singe your nose hairs.”

      “I rather thought you had, given the amount of time you have been spending with him.”

      “You’re supposed to visit people who are sick or injured, Sherlock.  It keeps their spirits up and if they need help, you can be there for them.  For instance, Greg needed a few groceries and I was able to get them for him and that was a worry off his mind.  He doesn’t need any further worries right now, that’s for certain.”

The glint in Sherlock’s eye told John he might have made the slightest of missteps.

      “Why would Lestrade be worried?”

      “Um… because he’s in poor shape, of course.”

      “No.”

      “I think, if you actually visited him now and again, you would see that, yes, he is in poor shape at present and will be until his body knits up a bit more.”

      “What are you hiding?”

      “Under my jumper?  A manly body that most blokes my age would envy.”

      “That was not even a paltry attempt at deflection.”

      “Really?  I thought it was pretty good, actually.”

      “You were incorrect.  Now, try again and insert some truth into your statements this time.”

      “I _was_ truthful about my manly body, thank you very much.”

      “Very well, I will grant you that single credit.  Begin.”

John smiled at the Sherlockian compliment and huffed out a small laugh at how lucky a man he was to have found such a unique and amazing person to call his own.

      “It’s nothing you would care about, Sherlock, so let’s just leave it at that.”

      “I believe I am the arbiter of what I would and would not care about so I say again – begin.”

Apparently his partner was in a contentious mood this evening and John had enough experience with that to know the only way out was through.

      “Alright, if you truly want to hear about Greg’s love life…”

Nothing could have surprised John more than Sherlock setting down his various tools and turning to stare directly into his eyes.

      “I’m waiting.”

      “Ok… well, Greg met… someone… and it was a slow, path for awhile but he thought he’d _finally_ gotten something positive going with this person.  Nothing serious, but definite interest and they were having a nice time together even if it was only as friends.  Then, completely unexpectedly this person leans in and kisses Greg, which would have been a very good thing in Greg’s opinion, but the bloke runs away and hasn’t had any contact with Greg since.  Needless to say, our favorite Detective Inspector isn’t particularly happy with life at the moment.”

Apparently, John had been wrong, because Sherlock getting up, snatching his coat and scarf definitely surprised him more than the detective’s attention to his story.

      “Where are you going?”

      “Out.”

      “Now?”

      “Now is when I need to go out so doing it at another time would be illogical.”

      “Well, I have no rebuttal to that, so have fun.  Bring back milk.”

      “Do we need it?”

      “Do we ever not need it?”

Sherlock snorted and stalked out of the flat, leaving John to make himself a cup of tea, with the last four drops of their milk, and settle in with the second half of the book he was reading.  There wasn’t any predicting when Sherlock would return, so he might as well be comfortable while he waited.  Some days were simply those that went in directions you didn’t foresee, but tea and a book made them bearable.  At least as long as Sherlock didn’t come back with any body parts tucked under his arm…

__________

Mycroft’s head pounded as loudly as the banging on his door and if it was in his power to incinerate his visitor through will alone, there would be a large pile of ash on his doorstep.

      “If this is not of the highest importance, consider yourself… Sherlock?”

Sherlock hoped his shock was not visible on his face, but knew he failed from Mycroft’s expression.  His brother’s appearance was appalling…

      “What is wrong with you?”

      “Nothing.  Now, leave.”

Which was Sherlock’s cue to push past his brother and storm the castle, leaving Mycroft to heave a heavily-frustrated sigh and follow in his wake.

      “Sherlock, why are you here?”

Not a question Sherlock condescended to answer until they were in Mycroft’s study and the younger Holmes could position himself between his brother and the door to prevent an escape attempt.

      “Why have you abandoned Lestrade?”

Considering he was existing purely on tea, coffee and adrenaline at the present time, Mycroft was flabbergasted that his surprise didn’t knock him back onto the floor.

      “I… I have… whatever do you mean?”

      “You are as transparent as John.  You know exactly my meaning and the fact that you are hoping to divert my attention is damning.”

      “Pshaw.”

      “That is even more damning.  Perhaps it is a good thing that you have lost interest in Lestrade, for I doubt he would appreciate a lifetime of your pathetic duplicity.”

Mycroft snarled, but it held little heat and that added to Sherlock’s worry, for his brother could muster a truly ferocious snarl when he was so inclined.  Combined with the darkness under his eyes and sharp lines of fatigue and stress on his face, the overall impression was of a man at the end of his rope.

      “This is none of your concern, brother.”

      “It is if that is at the heart of your appearing as a corpse.”

This snarl was even weaker than the first and Sherlock dropped onto the small sofa pointing at the nearby chair until Mycroft acquiesced and sat for a conversation.

      “It has simply been a busy few days, Sherlock, but I appreciate your honest concern.”

      “You have endured a bevy of busy days and never appeared this bedraggled.  However, you have never kissed Lestrade then gone into hiding before, so I assume that is the true reason for your condition.”

Sherlock quickly reached over to steady his brother as Mycroft jumped to his feet, then wobbled sharply.

      “Sit down before you find yourself puddled on the floor.”

      “Yes… yes, perhaps that is a good idea.”

Falling more than sitting, Mycroft retook his seat and did his level best to avoid his brother’s gaze.

      “May I ask, Sherlock, how you came by your information?”

      “John.”

      “He knows of my association with Gregory.”

      “I cannot verify that.  He did not mention your name, but if that was because he was unaware you were the guilty party or was convinced _I_ did not know is a matter of debate.”

      “I see.  Well, perhaps there is some comfort there.”

      “Do you deserve any?”

      “No.  Or yes.  I have no idea at this point.”

He had no idea about _anything_ at this point.  Despite every attempt, including chemical ones, to avoid sleeping, the crushing fatigue had overcome him now and again and the dreams… the horrid dreams scribed in blood red in the accursed wish book…

      “Mycroft?”

Gregory with a spouse on his arm, shining with happiness while _he_ watched that happiness from afar…

      “Mycroft?”

Himself, terribly aged and lying in a sickbed, surrounded by nothing but the ghosts of memories…

      “Mycroft!”

Dreams that were far worse and savaged his brain, as well as his heart, until he was certain he would go mad…

      “MYCROFT!!!!!”

      “What?  Oh… do pardon me.  I was… thinking.”

      “About what?  Your death?”

That was not at all far from the truth.

      “Do not be ridiculous.”

      “The ridiculous one, I believe, is you.  Lestrade is unhappy and you are the cause.”

      “That was not my intention.”

      “Then do announce what was.  Given you kissed him, I would have assumed your intention was to pursue the romance you were contemplating.”

      “I… it is not a simple thing, Sherlock.”

      “That much I believe.  _Nothing_ with you is simple.  However, given you desired a relationship with Lestrade and he appreciated your actions, your scurrying away like rat when the light is turned on makes no sense.”

It did if one factored in his near-insurmountable doubt that he was in any manner suitable for the Detective Inspector, _especially_ after scurrying away like a frightened rat.

      “The truth, brother dear, is that I misread Gregory’s signals and believed he was prepared for physical affection when, in truth, it was not what was on his mind.  I was presumptuous and acted without consent.  That is not an easy thing to bear.”

      “Lestrade was not distressed by your actions in any way, save when you left him without further contact.”

      “I simply needed time to think.”

      “The time you require for thinking is miniscule compared to the time you have taken.  Is it simply cowardice or are you having second thoughts about a romance with Lestrade?”

Mycroft found himself laughing and couldn’t ignore that it made his soul feel just the tiniest bit lighter.

      “Cowardice, without a doubt.”

      “Explain.”

      “Very well.  You were correct when you said my reach was for convenient men.  While I did enjoy their company, when we parted I did not sting greatly from the loss.  There was no drive in me to put their wants ahead of mine, to see them with the life they deserved and give them all possible happiness.”

      “And it is different with Lestrade.”

      “Immeasurably.  What I feel for him, Sherlock… it scares me, in some ways.  Though I want for Gregory so very much, I have no illusions about how little I have to offer a man such as him.  I have precious little time to devote to his attention and have no firm idea how to satisfy him on an emotional level.  I may want to make him happy, but if I cannot provide the means for that, then what good am I to him?”

Sherlock hoped the unsettling twisting in his stomach would abate at some point, but decided it would likely linger until he could spend time with John, something that always settled his unrest.  Mycroft never spoke like this.  _Never_.  And he was suddenly very glad for it.  Older brothers should not be allowed to express themselves like this to the tender ears of younger siblings.  It was simply a violation of nature’s laws.

      “I admit I did not gain many details from John, however, the impression I received was that Lestrade was most satisfied with the situation, until…”

      “Yes, I know.  It was not an easy thing to even broach some form of collegiality with him and harder still to consider taking matters further.  There were times I knew I was not worthy of Gregory’s continued regard and attempts to connect us, even if only on a cordial level, yet he continued to try.  And, I do believe, of late, he was gratified by the turn our relationship was taking and delighted that his efforts had not been in vain.”

      “Then there is no reason for you to cower in your home while he wonders why you have left him in the proverbial dust.”

      “There is every reason, until I am certain I can be the man Gregory both needs and desires.”

      “Both of which are his to decide and you are not giving him the opportunity to make that decision.”

      “The very last thing Gregory needs at this point is further perturbation in his life, given his injuries.”

      “Lestrade can do little but lie on his sofa and rot his brain with mindless television, so I believe he can weather some degree of perturbation with few ill effects.”

Waving away Sherlock’s argument with a flick of his wrist, Mycroft refused to give it any credence, though it nibbled annoyingly at the corners of his mind.

      “It is not fair, Sherlock, to raise his hopes only to have them dashed when I prove myself to be an unfortunate decision.”

      “Decision… as in what _he_ should be making and not being denied the right by a meddlesome busybody.”

Mycroft sighed and slumped in his chair, wishing he could speak of _all_ his evidence, but his brother would think him mad and likely would have no difficulty convincing John to sign the papers to have him committed for observation in a quiet place of rest.  Which, given the nightmares that had been battering him mercilessly, might actually be the best possible thing to happen to him in days.

      “I simply do not want to see Gregory hurt.”

      “Nor do I, however, I believe Lestrade would view the situation from a more practical and prideful point of view.  It is _his_ choice as to whom he brings into his life and I am quite certain he would not be pleased to learn he was being denied that choice, even if the intention was believed to be a good one.  Despite his foolishly-childish streak, Lestrade is an adult and capable of tending to his own well-being.  If you are not able to satisfy his wants, trust that he will make that clear and seek out better possibilities.  Of course…”

      “Yes?”

      “I must question if it is entirely for Lestrade’s protection that you are behaving in this fashion.”

The aim was true and the arrow was sharp.

      “That is surprisingly astute of you, Sherlock.  I know my own heart and can imagine, with horrific clarity, what it would suffer should the worst occur.  It is not unexpected that I would shy away from that pain, is it?”

      “No and, grudgingly, I must admit that I have known a similar worry at a point in my life.  However, it was a worry unfounded as, again grudgingly, I believe yours to be.  You should phone Lestrade now and tell a believable and comforting lie to alleviate his fears.  You will also ask permission to visit him and, when he grants it, commit a romantic atrocity, such as bestowing flowers or wine or sweets or whatever is required when one’s head has been recently extracted from one’s plump arse.  I will monitor your conversation and provide coaching, as required.”

Sherlock’s face settled into an expression that Mycroft remembered well from their youth, one where his brother had decided upon a course of action and neither heaven nor hell would be able to sway him from it.  And, oddly, it helped tip the balance.  Removing his mobile from his pocket, Mycroft set the call in motion and waited with only a monumental amount of nervousness until it was answered.

      “Mycroft?  Is it really... I mean… hi?”

      “Gregory, hello.  This is the very first moment I have had available to contact you and I could not let it pass without making apologies for these days of silence.  It is an unfortunate fact of my work that situations arise that must be tended to immediately and, often, without opportunity to reach out to those with whom one would be far happier spending one’s time.  How are you?  I hope, with great sincerity, that you are healing well and are not too angry at what must have seemed my ignoring of you.”

No, he did not just look at his brother to see if the rather vague, but heartfelt, conversation opening was acceptable, but Sherlock’s nod of approval was reassuring, nonetheless.

      “Yes!  I mean… I’m good.  Better, at least.  Things on the mend and all that.  I… well, I was a bit worried, about you, I mean, given our last meeting, but I do know what it’s like when work rises up like a tidal wave and sweeps you away.  No time to eat, sleep or piss, let alone spare a moment for a chat.  It… it’s good to hear from you, though.  Good to know you’re alright and all that.”

Gregory’s words were wonderfully fumbled and relived and _he_ was a villain for making the DI suffer so.  Perhaps Sherlock was right.  Gregory was a man who knew his own mind and if he was unhappy with their time together, he would not allow it to continue.  It would be a waste of the Detective Inspector’s time, time better spent seeking someone who was a better fit, but it would _not_ be the end of the world nor dog Gregory’s heels with continued misery…

      “I will admit to a rather significant amount of fatigue, but that is a situation with which I have a staggering amount of familiarity.  I wondered, though, if you might enjoy some companionship this evening?  I…”

No, do not look at Sherlock for guidance!  The child does not inform the man.

      “… I have missed you these past days and would hope to renew our acquaintance at the earliest possible opportunity.”

      “Really?  I’d love that!  Stop in anytime.  Can I get anything or do anything or…”

      “Perish the thought, Gregory.  After this bit of rudeness on my part, I believe the onus is upon me to get or do to make the evening a pleasant one.  I should be home sooner than later and will depart after a short amount of personal tidying.  Will that be sufficient?”

      “That sounds great.  Thanks for this, Mycroft.  I’m very much looking forward to seeing you.”

      “A sentiment I return gladly.  Until later, Gregory.”

      “Until later.”

Mycroft terminated the call and indulged a moment in the warm and pleased sound of his Gregory’s voice.  And marveled at how his own pleased warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of seeing the man again.

      “Ugh… you are experiencing romantic contemplation.”

      “Rather a simple pleasure from knowing the course of my day.”

      “He was encouraged to hear from you.”

      “That he was.  My rather nebulous fable did much to assuage his concerns about the reasons for my absence in his life.”

      “See that it does not become a habit.  Lestrade will not forgive easily if he learns that you routinely lie to him.”

That was unquestionably true and Mycroft knew with extreme certainty that it would not be tolerated, something with which he could not really find fault.  Lying was part and parcel of his work, however, he would have to show Gregory the respect he deserved, saving the untruths for those situations when it was necessary for reasons of government.  Even then, avoiding the lie and stating plainly that the subject was not one for which he could provide truth was likely the best option for all parties involved.

      “No, he would not and I would not dishonor him in that manner.”

      “Very well.  Then, my work here is done.  Since it was not actually _my_ work in the first place, do not complain at the size of the charge on your next bank card statement as I will exact my payment through my preferred purveyor of science equipment.”

Naturally.  And the charge would be paid with honest gratitude.

      “I expected no less.”

Sherlock rose and glared at his brother, camouflaging the relief that disaster had been avoided.  Not that he cared, of course, about either Mycroft’s or Lestrade’s romantic lives, but if they formed a single functional group, it would simplify his own life and there was nothing to dislike about that.

      “I am going to buy milk and return home to John.  Do not disturb me for the remainder of the year.”

Swirling his coat as he turned, Sherlock strode or, rather, strutted out of the study and Mycroft waited until he heard the front door close before he let his smile out into the light.  What an unexpected afternoon… and soon he would see the one person who could wash away the remainder of the clouds in his skies.  True to form, he had succumbed to his foolishness and nearly bungled the very thing he wanted most in this world.  That part, at least, was familiar.  Now, though, he had to embrace the unfamiliar and try his hand at being… different.  Or not different, for the man in his dreams _was_ him if well-hidden bits and pieces could be dredged up from the bottom of his personal ocean and allowed to swim free.  And, speaking of swimming, a long bath was most certainly in order.  And another pot of truly blistering coffee.  He could not quite brew a cup of heart-exploding death such as he had sampled on his coffee interlude with Gregory, but he would do his best.  Must be clear-headed for the night’s conversation.  And must be ready for whatever his dreams, in the aftermath, were preparing to unleash…


	12. Chapter 12

      “Ah, Mr. Holmes… it is good to see you again in my humble establishment.  With what might I tempt you today?”

      “Good day to you, sir, and, to be honest, I am seeking something with a touch of classic adventure, much in the vein of the Verne I purchased.”

      “How exciting!  Another gift, perhaps?”

      “You might call it that.”

      “Even more exciting.  For a man or woman?”

      “A man.”

      “Hmmmm… might your friend appreciate a touch of the… lurid.”

      “Oh, more than a touch.  He is quite diverse in his tastes and does not shy away from the more sensationalist offerings.”

      “Then I have just the thing.  Are you hoping for a special gift or one given purely for enjoyment?”

      “I believe the latter is in order.”

      “Then my field narrows from two to one.  I had thought… this…”

      “I see.  Yes, this is most certainly in the area of my interest.”

      “ _Princess of Mars_ is a favorite for all adventure-loving boys, and men.  And the Frank Schoonover illustrations truly do justice to the text.  However, _a_ book can be a singular thing and when there are more on offer… yes, here we are…”

      “The series!  This _is_ a handsome offering.”

      “Again, like the Poe, nothing a collector would credit, however an impressive gift for someone who appreciates reading a book equally to owning a book.”

      “And a boxed set does make a stellar impression.”

      “That it does.”

      “Then away it will go with me.”

      “Excellent!  Your friend will certainly be glad for it, I have no doubt.  And, if I may offer my impression, he must be a man of quality to merit such attention.”

      “You shall hear no argument from me on that score.  Gregory is a fine man, from any point of view.”

      “Then I am thrilled he is the recipient of my wares.   They do appreciate homes of deserving individuals and I am confident your friend offers just the thing.  Do visit again soon, Mr. Holmes.”

~~~~~

Mycroft woke with a start and found himself still sitting on the sofa where he had collapsed after his brother’s departure and quickly checked the clock for the time.  Only an hour had elapsed, but he felt as if he had slept a fortnight, likely because this dream was actually one… well, apparently he was being rewarded for rectifying his slights and neglect of Gregory.  And what an admirable idea he had been presented.  Sherlock did indicate a romantic gesture was necessary, did he not?  Of course, taking advice from the prancing peacock was nigh unto insanity, however, now and again the peacock was not entirely off the mark…

__________

Yes, this was, perhaps, not his most inspired course of action.  He might even go so far as to forgive the driver sniggering at him as he trundled his way to Gregory’s flat since the sight of an overloaded Holmes, juggling an armful of bulky and precious bestowments was something that offered more than its share of comedic potential.  Fortunately, the blackguard could not now see him struggle to rap on the door.

      “Come in!  Good lord!  Here, let me help you…”

Lestrade made to launch off the sofa seeing the shaky pack mule that entered his flat, but the mule had very different ideas on the matter.

      “Gregory, do not cause yourself harm when I am fully in control of the situation.”

Of course, the rapid, wobbly rearrangement as the bag clutched between his fore-and index-finger began to slip painted Mycroft the most unsuccessful of liars.

      “My mistake.  I didn’t realize the ‘oh shite’ dance was evidence of full control.  I’ll add that to my mental list of human behaviors to watch for.”

Mycroft glared, then laughed feeling a strong sense of relief that the expected awkwardness at seeing Gregory again had not come to pass.  The Detective Inspector was, as ever, a gracious and scintillating host.  And, apparently, harbored no overwhelming ill will about their separation.

      “See that you do.  I am most certain it will be a useful addition to your professional portfolio of skills.”

      “Always willing to learn new things.  And… wait.  Wait a moment.  I… I recognize the writing on that bag.  And that bag.  Mycroft… oh… oh you saintly man.  Is that really Gambino’s?”

The sight of a transfixed Gregory was one Mycroft immediately placed in his list of life’s most beautiful vistas.

      “I believe it is, actually.  I predicted you would not have eaten by his point and took the liberty of securing for us something I felt you would enjoy.”

      “Enjoy?  I absolutely love their food!”

And how delightful that it took very little persuading for the owner to part with the identity of dear Gregory’s favorite items.

      “Then I am hopeful you will dine most heartily.”

For it required only the smallest amount of his rather formidable mental abilities to discern that Gregory did not appear as hale and hearty as when last he was seen.  That _he_ might be the reason felt akin to taking a grenade in the colon.

      “Oh, I’ll do you proud, don’t you worry about that.”

And Lestrade vowed that if he had to sit on Mycroft and cram food into his mouth, he’d get his bottom ready for service because Mycroft looked _terrible_.  Whatever he’d been doing these past days had to have been a miserable bit of business… well, he was on the case now and whatever it took to put some color back into those cheeks, Greg Lestrade would see it done.

      “Want me to help you with that?”

      “Perish the thought, Gregory.  I am most capable of serving as… server for our meal.  Besides you appear to be quite content in your bower.”

      “I’m going insane!  Remind me never to get in this situation again, because there’s only so much relaxation a man can manage.  Which is something I never thought I’d say, but day after day of sitting here is making me a complete nutter.  It would be alright if it was just my leg _or_ just my ribs, but this combination is hell sent and you’ll never be able to convince me otherwise.”

      “And I would not try.  However, I would ask what sins are on your record to warrant such punishment.”

That was… marginally witty.  Gregory was giggling his adorable giggle and that, at least, signaled he was being given credit for attempting a witticism.  If that even mattered.  In truth, he was not entirely convinced he was _here_ … reality was a somewhat blurred thing at the moment and the lack of sleep over these past days made hallucinations another disheartening possibility.  But… what did it matter if Gregory was giggling…

      “HA!  Oh, legions of dastardly ones.  When I was a lad, I may have done a few, or more than a few, things I’m not proud of.  Or very proud of.  Or a bit of both.”

Such a wickedly smug grin.  It was positively breathtaking.

      “Then I offer you my sincere congratulations.  And a plate of something to celebrate your ribaldry and carousing.”

Mycroft handed Lestrade his food and offered the warmest, most amiable, smile he could muster.  The visit, so far, was directly in line with their last… comfortable, light-hearted… a perfect experience until he had committed his faux pas.  Gregory was a darling man for letting this bloom again before broaching the rather large elephant in the room.  It would come, there was no doubt about it, but a modicum of time to simply enjoy this bonhomie was utter bliss.

      “Ravioli!  And gnocchi!  Those are my favorites!  Nobody makes them like Gambino’s.  How did you know?  Or do I _want_ to know how you knew?”

Lestrade laughed at Mycroft’s tiny ‘I’ve been a bad boy’ grin and knew, without question, that he wanted to see that again.  Many, many times.

      “I _may_ have employed certain measures to ensure you received something to make proper reparations for my recent absence.  It was truly the minimum I could do to demonstrate my contrition.”

      “Well, feel free to be contrite as often as you want if it gets me my favorite Italian food.  And bread!  I adore their bread.”

What Mycroft adored was the sight of a gleeful Lestrade, taking large bite from his plate and sighing contentedly.

      “Wonderful.  Really, Mycroft, this is the best surprise in the world and you have my eternal gratitude for it.”

      “Did I fail to mention the beer?”

      “BEER!  Oh, my god, I could… I could punch you in the arm in a very manly way and call you mate or chum or something along that line.”

The very bright pinking of Lestrade’s cheeks confirmed Mycroft suspicion as to how that sentence was supposed to end and his dining partner had his eternal gratitude for further postponing their inevitable conversation until a slightly-later moment.

      “I do bruise easily, so go gently with your fisticuffs.”

And lower the level of precious pink in your skin by the time I return with your beverage for the tableau it makes is too beautiful to bear.

      “I’ll be very gentle, I promise.  Yes!  Good beer, too.  The one, single positive thing about being an invalid is that people bring you beer.  Convalescing with a good drunk filling your brain isn’t the worst way to pass the time.”

      “Well, you shall not receive quite that quantity to quaff tonight, I’m afraid.  I would hate for you to leap upon the sofa table to demonstrate your talent for dancing and see again the inside of one of our city’s illustrious hospitals.”

Thank you, Gregory, for responding to my novice efforts at humor with your roughly-arousing laughter.  With your encouragement, I might find it within myself to voice such more often.  Thrice a day, perhaps, and that is a giddy thought.

      “And I’ve done that, too!  Landed on my arse after a few gyrations, but I still won applause from my mates who were as pissed as I was.  So, I suppose you’re right to worry and I’ll not pester you for more than two.  Or five.”

      “Your skills for negotiation require a bit of polish, I’m afraid.”

      “Oh, I haven’t even started to negotiate.  Honed my talents at every fine establishment offering coffee in this city.  You’d think they’d be honored to press a hot cup of life’s blood into a tired and ragged copper’s hand, but no!  Greedy bastards want you to pay a king’s ransom, but I’ve got my ways.”

      “Dear heavens, I had no idea your day was so fraught with difficulty.  It is a testament to your diligence and talent that _any_ criminals are brought to justice.”

      “Some days it’s a struggle, but we persevere.”

And perseverance was, apparently, what was in store for him tonight because Mycroft did _not_ seem inclined to broach the topic that was on both their minds.  Maybe Mycroft was hoping he’d just forget about it and go on as they had before, but that was a stupid hope and Mr. Holmes was anything but stupid.  More likely, Mycroft was embarrassed to bring it up or maybe he was worried that _he_ had changed his mind about it all.  Well, there was one thing for certain, it was going to be this tired and ragged copper’s job to make the first move.  Just not this particular second… there was too much fun to be had first and quality Italian did not pair well with worry…

      “Speaking of perseverance, it sounds like you’ve had rough several days, Mycroft.  Anything you can talk about or is it all top secret business?”

His mental state was the epitome of top secret, however, since the path of the lie was already laid, following it along a few steps further was not an additional affront to his dignity.

      “Much is rather outside the bounds of what I can reveal, however, I will assure you that you may rest easy tonight that the city shall not be overrun by naval forces from any of our more tempestuous neighbors.”

      “Oh, that sounds fun.  Not as fun as aliens, but still pretty good.”

      “I have yet to personally step in and resolve any issues concerning extraterrestrials, but I suppose there is always the proverbial first time.”

      “I want your word, your solemn word, that national security or not, you’ll tell me when we make first contact.”

      “That would require rather a mountainous amount of paperwork to clear, I’m afraid.”

      “Off the record.  On the sly.  Man to man.  That sort of thing.”

      “Well…”

      “Please please please please please…”

      “Oh, I suppose one small breach of security will not bring the downfall of the Empire.  Consider it done.”

      “Yes!”

      “Of course, that supposes first contact has not already occurred and your request did not cover revelation of any past encounters with those not of this planet.”

      “NO!  That’s evil of you, Mycroft.  Purely and simply evil.  Bastardly evil.  Stomp my foot and pout evil.”

      “Negotiation skills, Gregory.  We will begin your lessons at the earliest possible opportunity.”

The rude noise Lestrade made gave his ribs a twinge, but it was alright because it set Mycroft laughing and that was something he never tired of watching.  And wasn’t the mighty Mycroft Holmes being his most ‘human’ self tonight…  this was the person who made his heart skip a beat and it was good to have him here.  Now, the job was to make sure that he stayed here, at least long enough to get a few things aired out between them.

      “Well, I wasn’t the most studious student, so you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

      “I do appreciate a challenge.  However, the turn of our conversation does remind me…”

Lestrade watched his guest set aside his plate and walk back to the kitchen to take another package from the table and bring it back to hand to him with an anticipative smile.

      “I am hopeful you will accept this, Gregory, as a further token of my regret for leaving you in silence.”

      “A present?  For me?  Mycroft, you didn’t have to do this.”

      “Perhaps, but it seemed appropriate.  I simply wish for you to receive enjoyment from it and, perhaps, have some additional distraction from your confinement.”

A quick peek inside the large bag told Lestrade that enjoyment was fairly guaranteed, because there was no mistaking a large boxed set of books.  That changed to _absolutely_ guaranteed when he drew it out and saw the titles.

      “Brilliant!  Oh, I love Edgar Rice Burroughs!  I ate his works up like sweets when I was young, but I’ve not had time to revisit any of it lately.  And John Carter… what a man of adventure.  This is perfect, Mycroft and you have my thanks for it.  You’ve got a talent for knowing what I’d like, do you know that?”

The gift was a success!  Not that he had harbored much doubt or he would not have had his entire staff tracking down what his dream had advised and delivering it to him before he left to collect the food, but it was heartening to hear it expressed so jubilantly from Gregory’s own lips.

      “I am glad it meets with your approval.”

      “Approval?  That’s not nearly what it gets from me.  And the whole set, too.  This is going to be excellent company while I’m rotting here on my sofa.  Really, it’s perfect…”

Should he?  Plates were just about clean and beer was down to the dregs… why not?  No better time than the present.

      “… just like you.”

Mycroft’s face felt like it was ablaze from the flush and he could only cross his fingers that it wasn’t as visible as it felt.

      “You’re blushing.  And it’s lovely, too.”

And now he was blushing harder, thank you very much, Gregory.  How on Earth could one man have such power over his internals?

      “I haven’t forgotten, Mycroft.  What happened, I mean.  It’s been a very prominent part of my thoughts, actually, and they’ve been some very good thoughts, indeed.  I know you were upset, maybe a bit shocked that part of you took control and acted before your brain could chime in and stop you, but I’ve not had a single regret.  Not one single regret beyond not having a chance to see you again for more of the same.  I suppose I’m hoping to hear that whatever’s been in your mind, when it’s not been otherwise occupied, has been along those lines, too.”

And so it begins.  Not that he believed he could hide forever, but Mycroft had hoped they could enjoy the cannoli happily sitting in wait for them before this segment of the evening arrived.  It was an uncertain thing that his stomach would fully appreciate the delicacies once he had bared his soul.

      “I am not proud of what I did, Gregory.  I thought… I misread the signs and acted improperly.”

      “Uh, no.  You did _not_ misread the signs.  I’ve been throwing them at you like bricks and I’m surprised it took this long for one of them to actually connect.”

      “You… oh.  Oh, I see.”

      “You cannot sit there and tell me you didn’t realize I was interested in you, Mycroft.  You’re far too intelligent, and observant, for that.”

He could very much sit here and profess such a thing, but it would be a lie and a childish one at that.

      “I admit… I noticed that you often attempted to engage me in conversation.  Collegial conversation, that is, not topics related to whatever ridiculous situation that Sherlock had engendered.  However, you are a genial individual and such a thing is to be expected.”

      “You know that’s not true, Mycroft.  I mean, yes, I don’t mind having a good chat with a body when I have the chance, but you’re not someone people simply approach to share a few friendly words to pass the time.  You knew it meant something else.”

Gregory Lestrade was an intelligent, insightful man and it was beastly of him to show that side of himself at this particular moment.  However, there was use no running from the truth now…

      “Very well, I will admit that I believed you sought to grow a cordiality between us.  A… a friendship, even.”

      “And you’re not wrong.  But I can’t say I didn’t hold out hope for more.  I wasn’t confident it’d ever come to pass, not at all, but a man can dream.  I thought it would be helpful if we could be friendly, what with all the trouble Sherlock and John get into, but I also thought there was a chance that something else might be possible if it could get the opportunity, at least, to get it started.  You _didn’t_ misread any signs, Mycroft.  Yes, I was startled that night because I certainly didn’t expect to be kissed by you right at that moment, but I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when you did it.  Did you… was it something you liked?”

How does one distill the essence of ecstasy into a cogent verbal description?  How is a dream come true put into words?  How does…

      “That bad, huh.”

      “NO!  No, that is the farthest possible thing from the truth.  It is simply… this is not easy for me, Gregory.”

      “It’s not easy for me either!”

Lestrade slowly swung his leg down from the sofa, maneuvered himself to sit upright and motioned Mycroft to come and take a seat next to him.  Something he had to repeat several times, with increasing intensity, before the elder Holmes complied.

      “None of this was easy for me, Mycroft.  Every time I tried to talk to and it fell flat, when I smiled and you looked at me like I was hexing you… it wasn’t easy to keep trying.  But it was the times you didn’t do any of that which gave me hope.  Kept me trying to draw a little more out of you and, maybe, let you see a little more of me in the process.  When you kissed me… all those hopes felt realized.  If you’re still worried you did something I didn’t want, then stop.  But, I have to know… did you do something that, ultimately, you decided _you_ didn’t want?”

Mycroft marveled that Lestrade could lay out his heart so plainly and, looking into the Detective Inspector’s warm eyes, he knew that he had to do the same.

      “Want is not the relevant issue.  What I want I have always known and that is what you have, so freely, offered.  The question, instead, was one of merit – did I _deserve_ what you were offering?”

      “What?  That makes no sense.”

With a sigh, Mycroft steeled himself for the sort of revelation for which he was inordinately ill-suited.  But, there was no turning back from the road on which his feet were firmly set…

      “I have no illusions, Gregory, about who I am and who I am not.  I also have no illusions about the complexity of my life and what time it fails to provide those who are touched by it.  I do not consider myself an entirely arrogant person, in that I do not consider my personal wants to be supreme when compared to those of another and I had no confidence that even a friendship with you is something you would, ultimately, find satisfying.  It is still a situation I have not been able to mentally resolve, in truth, and, thus, my rash action placed me in a highly distressing position, for more than one reason.”

      “You learned that I wanted to go further and you weren’t ready for that.”

      “In some ways.  The very last thing I desire is for you to suffer for either my action or inaction.  You are a good man and deserve a good man in return.  That is not something I can claim and, yes, I have volumes of evidence to support that position.  What I want and what I… what I want for _you_ are two markedly different things and I am still struggling to find a way reconcile them.”

Lestrade pursed his lips and nodded, waving off Mycroft’s protests as he wriggled himself off the sofa and made his unsteady way to the kitchen, bringing back a bottle of scotch with no glasses.

      “Well, that’s a lot for one man to think about.  No wonder you had a bad turn.”

One large swig went down Lestrade’s throat before he handed the bottle to Mycroft who hesitated only slightly before following suit.

      “But I’m going to tell you what I think about all of that and you can do with it what you will.  First, the piece about a complex life is one I understand.  I don’t think there’s a bit of my time that I can honestly claim as my own.  That damn mobile can ring at any moment, no matter what’s going on, and I’m needed for something that doesn’t care I’m having dinner with someone or in the middle of an argument or trying to get a fucking few hours sleep after two days of nothing.  So, I’ll say you’re not off the mark for that, but you’re not alone in it and having a body around who understands the shite people like us endure is probably a good thing.”

Stealing the bottle back, Lestrade took another large mouthful, letting loose a deep sigh when he was done because this was his quality scotch and it deserved his loudest appreciation.

      “As for you not being a good man, I can only base my judgment on what I’ve seen or heard and I’d say you’re a better man than you think you are.  I don’t have any doubt you’ve done some truly awful things for work reasons.  Things no man would be proud of and would love to be able to purge from his memory so they didn’t keep staining his soul.  But, I’m not a child.  I know that this world is a terrible place sometimes and it can need terrible things to keep it in line.  Not everyone could do that… takes someone who is willing to do the terrible things and make the hard choices, even if they have a difficult time liking themselves afterwards, because _everyone else_ is better for it.  I think that’s being a good man, in its own way.”

Mycroft stared at Lestrade and desperately tried to find any sign of duplicity in his expression, but failed to see a single one.

      “I know, too, that a good man cares, and you care for your brother more than he’ll never know.  You care for him deeply and enduringly, despite all the headaches he’s given you and the rubbish he’s dragged you through over the years.  And you cared about me being hurt, which is something a good man certainly wouldn’t bother about.  From the evidence I have, I’d say my opinion of you isn’t quite in line of the one you have for yourself.”

This time it was Mycroft who stole the scotch and made friends with a long swallow of the fiery liquid.  Something inside him felt like it had been hit with a wave of the freshest, cleanest air and he wondered if this was what absolution felt like.  No wonder people coveted it so dearly.

      “Now, what I _don’t_ have any illusions about is that neither of us is perfect and both of us have jobs that come with frustrations for the person in our lives.  That we’ll both be hypocrites sometimes, getting angry at the other one for sending plans into the dust or being unavailable for days because of this or that.  It’s normal and human and we’ll say we’re sorry, forgive and move on.  That’s if you’re willing to try, of course.  I do.  Want to try, I mean.   Give it a go and see if we can make something work that we’re both happy with.  Is that… is that something that might interest you?”

Whether it was the scotch or the piece of his core that felt something other than stagnation for the first time in years, but Mycroft found himself nodding and doing so with determined force.

      “It is.”

      “Then, there we have it.  And I’ll let you set the pace.  As slow as you want to go is fine with me.  I can’t go very fast for much right now anyway, so it’s a good chance to get to know each other better.  How does that sound?”

Perfect.  Gregory knew precisely what this foolish old man needed to find and keep his footing for something… something with the potential of being meaningful.  Something for which that stagnant part of him had secretly sought for so very long.

      “It sounds like an extremely successful strategy.”

      “What could be better?  Well, I can think of _one_ thing.”

There was no mistaking the look in Lestrade’s eyes and the slight twitching of his lips and, this time, when Mycroft leaned in, he was met with an eagerness that matched his own, something which started a warmth winding through his body that felt cozier than a fire on a cold winter’s night.  With that comfortable heat spurring him on, the slightest bit of roaming hands may have occurred, which drew from his partner the most delightful of sounds.

      “You’re very good at that, Mr. Holmes.  Very good, indeed.”

      “As are you, Mr. Lestrade.  And, Gregory… thank you.  For all that you said.  It meant a great deal to me.”

Lestrade reached out and gently caressed Mycroft’s cheek, certain he would never fully understand the man he was hoping to come to know very well.  Thankfully, he found the thought of that ridiculously exciting as there would always be something new to learn and discover and that was a grand thing to look forward to in life.

      “I’m glad.  And don’t worry that I’ll run out of compliments because the sack I’ve got is a hefty one and not likely to go empty anytime soon.”

Before he could start blushing again, Mycroft held up a ‘just a moment’ finger and darted into the kitchen to bring back his last little surprise for the incredible man who had given him the chance of a lifetime.

      “For you, Gregory, and your flattering kindness.”

      “Cannoli!  Gambino’s cannoli are the most decadent thing I’ve ever had in my mouth!  Well, so far…”

The ‘know what I mean’ wink kicked away any lingering uncertainty Mycroft may have had about Lestrade’s intentions and he tsk-tsk’ed is his most matronly fashion to keep his giggles at bay.

      “Gregory Lestrade… you are truly a hedonist.”

      “Guilty.  But I’m a hedonist with cannoli and a gorgeous man to kiss in between bites, so I can live with it.”

Which he proved by stealing a quick kiss from Mycroft before taking a large bit of the cannoli Mycroft had held up for inspection.

      “ ‘m n hvn.”

      “You do look rather angelic at the moment.”

      “Kn hdnsts lk anglk?”

      “Some apparently can and you are their flag-bearer.”

Lestrade beamed proudly, earning him another bit of Mycroft’s laughter, something which Mycroft realized he had done more with Lestrade than with anyone else he had ever known.   How and if this relationship would work remained to be seen, but there was no doubt he was committed to giving it his best effort.  Gregory was willing to be patient, had realistic expectations and saw, in him, someone worthy of attention and… affection.  The risk was high, for if he lost this man after yearning for so long, he would be devastated, but nothing worthwhile was ever had without risk.  if Gregory was willing to accept that risk, then he could do no less and no amount of self-doubt or insecurity could be allowed to block his path.

      “A ltl mr sktch?”

      “Cannoli and scotch… we are mining, this night, untold depths of bacchanalia.”

      “Itz fn, iznt it?”

Fun didn’t begin to describe it and Mycroft took his own bite of cannoli before passing over the scotch bottle for Lestrade to sample.  No, self-doubt and insecurity had no place here.  Not when his silliest self was out in the open, playing in the sun in a shamefully uninhibited manner.  Fortunately, Gregory had no issue with silly.  No man placing a spot of ricotta on his nose and trying to capture it with his tongue could have an issue with silly.  My, but Gregory had a limber tongue… which was very likely the point of the demonstration.  An angel with a devil’s spirit… really, could one man be more perfect?  It was going to be very interesting finding out…


	13. Chapter 13

Was there a time in his life he had been so content?  No, perish the thought.  So content, in fact, that his driver had been forced to use unsavory tactics to evict him from the vehicle and see him through his own front door.  And it was not even entirely the fault of the scotch!  Admittedly, it _was_ a contributing factor and a noted one, at that, but it surely was not alone in the credit.  It was… a sensation of peace that filled him to the core.  The indescribable battering his mind had taken of late had been laid firmly to rest and he felt as if his little ship had passed beyond the edge of the storm and found calm waters.

Though, _could_ calm waters be the description of his current situation?  If anything was aptly termed invigorating it was the being known as Gregory Lestrade.  Though, his invigoration had been enrobed in  the a profoundly relieving sense of stability and… yes, calm _was_ the proper term… so that the overall effect was the most joyful he could imagine.  They had talked and laughed and shared the most comforting and sultry of kisses… Gregory was a marvelous kisser.  His technique was unparalleled, but that was only a piece of the puzzle.  The quantity of affection the man could infuse into his physical gestures was staggering.  He kissed with his body and soul, even if the gift was the simplest peck on the cheek.  What… what could the man do with a greater range of gestures at his disposal?  If, by the grace of the stars, there could be the sharing of warm, bare skin and the delights that such exposure offered?  His mind could not comprehend it!  Could not envision the heights to which that pleasure could reach.  Though it would not stop him from trying.

Mycroft took his slightly unsteady self to bed and imagined, with little difficulty, how glorious it would be to share the bed with someone about whom he genuinely cared and who cared for him in return.  To lie in the arms of someone who was as happy to have him there was he was to _be_ there… glorious.  Simply and utterly glorious.  Just like Gregory’s beautiful smile…

~~~~~

      “And, what fiendish plan do you have in store for me tonight, Mr. Holmes?  Again with the armful of bags.”

      “Yes, my fiendishness knows no bounds, so I am most afraid you have a hellacious evening ahead of you.  Do prepare yourself accordingly.”

      “I will now begin girding my loins and reaching for my pain pills.”

      “Excellent.  I do appreciate a well-thought-out preparedness plan.  Now, let us see what I have wrought.  One… blanket.  And… lo!  A bottle of brandy.  Good heavens, could the evening descend further into the inky depths?  Yes, for here is… a film!  Aristotle’s beard – another film!  Truly, you are slated for chaos and upheaval this stygian and anarchic night.”

      “HA!  Bring me all you’ve got!”

      “Oh, I shall.  Might there be… oh, can there be another word than plethora for the variety of nibbles that are rising from the pits of despair to ensnare you in their talon-tipped grasp?”

      “If I’m headed for despair and misery, then I’d rather it be by a plethora than something weedy and unimpressive.”

      “An admirable frame of mind.  Now, you remain on your raft of moderate safety and I shall set in place the instruments of your torture.  Only a moment and we may begin.”

      “Bowls are in the cabinet next to the one with the plates.”

      “Your cooperation is most appreciated.”

~~~~~

Infernal bladder!  This was important information!  A properly planned evening with Gregory!  Accursed excretory system… and he had to leave his warm bed with bed-pillow Gregory nestled against his chest…

~~~~~

      “Whew!  That was a bit of effort, but it was worth it!  I love driving around London at night!  Or, in this case, being driven.  I’ve never appreciated your mysterious dark sedans more than this very moment.”

      “I thought you might enjoy some time out of your flat.  A relaxing ride around the city can be quite the enjoyable venture.  Of course, when you are ambulatory, we might explore on foot and take a deeper look at what London offers.”

      “I’d love that!  Stroll about on a lovely day… that’s one of my favorite pastimes, as a matter of fact.  Sharing it with you would be absolutely brilliant.  Kiss to seal the deal?”

      “Without question.”

~~~~~

Parched!  Drain from one end and refill from the other.  Was he a reservoir of some form?  A camel?  How foolishly disruptive of his evening out with Gregory.  Whenever that might occur, of course…

~~~~~

      “Is that coffee I smell?”

      “Not quite the caliber of intestinal stripper that you prefer, but warm and flavorful, nonetheless.”

      “And… is that a book in your hand?”

      “It is.  I am finding myself with an afternoon free and, given it is a drizzly one, thought time with a good book and a warm beverage would be the perfect manner in which to spend it.  I, however, shall enjoy a bracing cup of tea instead of your precious coffee.”

      “Rainy day of reading?  Amazing!  You have the greatest ideas, Mycroft, you really do.”

      “Thank you, my dear.  For you, I do try my best.”

~~~~~

How could he be chilled!  The warmth of adoration was deep in each of his bones!  Stupid body… was it unaware of the splendor its weakness was interrupting?  For this it would receive naught but lumpy gruel for breakfast.  Well… perhaps that was a bit draconian.  The threat should be more than sufficient to forestall another disruption of his dreams.  No need to actually go through with the act.  That would just be silly…

~~~~~

      “Your body is magnificent, love.”

      “As is yours, Gregory.  A marvel of masculine perfection.”

      “Even with the cast?”

      “Nothing could mar your beauty.  

      “Then come here and take advantage of it.  I’ve dreamed about touching you, Mycroft.  Running my hands over your skin, smelling the scent of every part of you… taking you in my mouth and showing you what my tongue can do to make you a happy man.”

      “And I know well the nimbleness of your tongue, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Then bring your luscious self a little closer and let me get to work.  I warn you, though… I like to use my hands for all sorts of filthy things, too.”

      “How utterly…

~~~~~

Bed-pillow Gregory had fallen!  No!  His paramour substitute could not suffer the indignity of spending the night on the floor.  Admittedly, the rug on which it landed was a particularly luxurious one, but Gregory deserved a far more palatial resting place.  Like a body-warmed mattress that smelled of the vestiges of… mental ruminations on affectionate behaviors… which likely spilled bed-pillow Gregory onto the floor in the first place.  Compromising his dear one in such a lascivious manner, how utterly tawdry.  Best save such for the real thing…

__________

By the time Mycroft woke for the morning, he was surprisingly rested, but had a head filled with future possibilities.  Ideas for wooing his Detective Inspector and demonstrating that he could be a worthwhile partner in the man’s life.  Nothing extravagant or complicated, for Gregory was certainly not in a condition to weather such things very well, but appropriate activities that were enjoyable and gave them time together to come to know each other better.  Mentally and physically.  The latter of which was particularly delicious to contemplate.  Kisses!  He was still agog at the sensation of Gregory’s kisses.  If today was not a day of work, he would have the luxury of dwelling in memory and enjoying each of their kisses anew a multitude of times.  However, that was not the case.  Cleanse, dress, groom and be off to keep the jackals at bay.  And make, of course, a small stop to read the transcript of his dreams to reconnect with their unabashed wonder.  With luck he would see his Detective Inspector soon and learn what other joyful moments were there for the taking.  Which, hopefully, would begin not long after he tucked himself into bed for the night…

__________

Lestrade stared at his mobile for the hundredth time that day and stroked it contemplatively as he _contemplated_ for the hundredth time that day.  Deciding to procrastinate… research the question… he finally used it for its intended purpose and smiled when John answered after only a few rings.

      “What do you need now, you rubbish excuse for a human being?  A fluffier towel?  Incense?  Hair product?”

      “No to all of that.  Actually… I was hoping for some advice.”

      “Oh.  Well, that’s surprising, since you usually ignore any I give you.”

      “True, but this is different.  I’m actually asking, so there’s a chance I might pay _some_ attention to the answer.”

      “That’s different, then.  How can I help you today, sir?”

      “It’s… it’s about Mycroft and me.”

John went on high alert since Lestrade’s tone wasn’t the most encouraging he could hope for.  Fun and games was officially at an end.

      “Is everything alright?”

      “I’d say… more than alright actually.  He finally came to see me and… kissing has occurred.  Lots, actually.”

Really?

      “Really?  He comes out of hiding and right away it’s kissing?  And in the very plural sense of the term? That’s something to celebrate, mate, so why do you sound like they banned football for being too unsettling for public viewing.”

      “Because I’m trying to decide if I should tell Sherlock.  I mean… I can’t imagine him reacting well if he found out on his own and that could be hard on Mycroft.  And a pain in the arse for me.  Breaking the news myself and letting him get used to the idea before he sees anything that makes his brain sizzle might be a good plan.”

      “That’s… that’s actually worth considering.  I haven’t told him anything, that’s for certain and… yeah, he _could_ react badly if he stumbles on you and his brother doing something that nature never intended and having a grand time of it.”

      “Exactly!  You know how he just invades whenever he wants.  Or, knowing him, he’d notice something in the way I pulled up my socks to give me away.”

      “Then I’d say do it.  Actually he’s not very busy at the moment if you want me to hand him the phone.”

      “No, this is something I’d rather do in person.  I’ll text him and tell him to stop in for a chat.  Hint there’s something juicy in lines of a new case I’ve heard about to entice him into my lair.”

      “Very sneaky.  I approve.”

      “Good to know.  Ok then… enough of talking to you.  And, yes, I do need some shampoo, so add that to my weekly grocery order.”

      “Prat.  But, I remember what you use, so ok.  Speaking of ok, how are you feeling?”

      “Better than a week ago, but not good enough to take Mycroft dancing.”

      “Vertical or horizontal?”

      “I like you, John.  We think alike.”

      “Maybe that’s why we fell into the strange and unfathomable world of Holmes.”

      “For once, we get our just rewards.”

      “Or our just deserts.”

      “I’ll let you know once the dancing starts.”

Lestrade terminated the call and laughed, quickly texting Sherlock to stop bothering John and stop in to bother him instead.  Yes, putting things out in the open was by far the smartest plan.  And wasn’t it lovely that Mycroft left a single cannoli for him to enjoy at his leisure?  That was a suitable celebration for a successful plan, wasn’t it?  Yes, it was.  Even without a mouthful of scotch to chase it down…

__________

      “Ugh.”

      “That sounds painful.”

      “It is. Lestrade has texted me.”

      “Oh, well… that’s nice.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stared at his partner, wondering why John was incompetently trying to hide previous knowledge about the situation.

      “Why are you incompetently trying to hide your previous knowledge about this situation?”

      “Hey!  I am _not_ incompetent.”

      “For the skill of concealing information from me, yes… yes, you are.”

John’s pride surged to the fore to provide evidence that Sherlock’s statement was verifiably false, but since that evidence pertained to the very topic about which the DI wanted to chat, he swallowed down his ego and glared instead.

      “You’ll not have my agreement for that, Sherlock, so I win.”

      “Wrong.”

      “Right.  You can’t claim victory if I don’t admit defeat, so… there.”

      “Intolerable!  You cannot withhold my success because of petulance!”

      “I think I’m doing a very good job of it, actually.”

      “I beg to… wait.  You are trying to divert me from my original point of contention.  In this, also, you have failed.”

Drat.

      “No, I’m not.  I’m just riling you a little because it’s fun.”

      “Again, you reek of lies.”

      “I’ll spray some of that room freshener about so your nostrils aren’t offended.”

      “Given your descent into duplicity began with the text from Lestrade, I am confident he sits at the center of your fabrications.”

      “That was a very pathetic attempt to try and get information out of me, just so you know.  Not that I have any information to give, that is.”

      “Nothing I do is pathetic.  For instance, when I arrive at Lestrade’s flat, I shall inform him that you have already divulged certain facts of interest and I have no doubt his response will be one that will be entertaining to behold.”

      “NO!  No, Sherlock, that’s not a good idea.”

      “Then you admit your devious behavior is rooted in Lestrade and that there is something going about which I have no knowledge.”

      “I admit nothing.”

      “Flaccid, John.  Wiltingly, droopingly flaccid.”

      “Sherlock… look, I’ll say this.  There _is_ something Greg wants to talk to you about, but it’s not my place to say anything about it.  Just go and pay him a visit, will you?  I promise your curiosity will be satisfied.”

      “But I want to know now.”

      “Wanting isn’t the same as getting.  Go talk to Greg.”

      “Why should I travel all the way to Lestrade’s hovel when I can obtain the information I seek from you?”

      “For two reasons.  First, you’ve only visited him once since his accident…”

      “I have actually not visited him a single time and am reluctant to besmirch my perfect record.”

      “WHAT!  I told you to go and…”

      “I found something more interesting to do, instead.”

      “You bastard.  Then you absolutely HAVE to go and visit today because that’s a rotten thing for one friend to do to another.”

      “While I could debate the use of the term ‘friend’ with respect to Lestrade, I shall table that discussion for a later time and consider your first point of argument defeated.  Your next?”

John seethed and glared at Sherlock, which, as usual, only brought a satisfied grin to the detective’s face.

      “You are still a bastard and if Greg decides never to let you on a crime scene again, I’m going to give him a big round of applause.”

      “Irrelevant.  Besides you are criminally easy to please as your taste in television and film offerings frequently attests.  Now, confess.”

      “No.  Greg wants to talk to you and talk to you he will.”

      “I reiterate that I will pronounce upon crossing his threshold that I already know the subject of his conversation and you will be painted as a betrayer of his friendship.  Given the certainty of that, you would be better served confessing so that your reputation as a traitor has merit and you do not sob incessantly about your fate as a falsely-accused man.”

John was very confident that if he chose to beat Sherlock to a bloody pulp, he could do it and do it with unrivaled style and flair, however… Greg wouldn’t appreciate either a bloody pulp dropping its blood and pulp on his floors or a Sherlock who was already primed to be a volcanic nuisance to talk to.  Fuck.

      “If I tell you, do you promise not to let on that you know so Greg can have his say?  It’s something important, Sherlock, and he’s very serious about talking to you.”

Sherlock felt the first tendril of something other than amusement at baiting John thread through his veins and found himself nodding his agreement before the thought had fully formed in his conscious mind.

      “Alright… Greg met someone, as I told you before.  Someone special.  He wants to…”

      “You mean Mycroft.”

Once, in the Army, the vehicle John had been riding in veered to miss an animal in the road and slammed into the side of a building instead.  It felt just about like this…

      “YOU KNOW?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “I… I was not certain _you_ knew.  I feel now that you are aware of the identity of Lestrade’s interest, so it would be simpler to speak plainly on the topic.”

      “I see.  And, despite the fact that we sleep in the same bed every night and Greg is someone that I, at least, call a friend, you didn’t feel it necessary to tell me about this?”

      “Mycroft would not have appreciated his personal business bandied about like tabloid gossip.”

Which Sherlock was happy to do for anyone else.  Loudly and repeatedly.  Protecting Mycroft’s interests was exceedingly interesting, but John had to, albeit grudgingly, credit Sherlock’s concern for his brother.  On the rare occasion, Sherlock’s affection for Mycroft peeked out from its hiding place and it was always a pleasant thing to see. 

      “Ok… I can understand that.  And, yes, I’m talking about Mycroft.  Do you… how much do you know?”

      “I have been advising Mycroft on the progress of his romantic pursuit of Lestrade since I became aware of it.”

If that was not the most ludicrous thing John had heard in this life, then his mind had purged the memory of the contest winner to save his sanity.

      “You?  Give relationship advice?”

      “I am highly skilled with relationship issues, as you well know.”

For one single instance, John would acknowledge the truth of that, and, since that instance was _him_ , would graciously fail to point out in full and living color Sherlock’s lack of social skills.

      “Then tell me, given your skilled relationship coaching, how Mycroft could be enough of a twat to run out on Greg the very night he kisses him!”

      “Because he is completely unfamiliar with anything approaching genuine human interaction and is as stupid on the subject as a turnip is for nuclear physics.  I, however, am rectifying that character defect.”

The full vision of Sherlock acting as romantic advisor for his tightly-controlled brother spread out in front of John and it was only Sherlock’s truly hurt frown that made his laughter come to a halt.

      “It’s alright, Sherlock.  I’m not laughing at you or your ability to oversee Mycroft’s love life.  It’s just… you have to admit this isn’t something that a normal person would anticipate.”

      “Ah, yes.  A normal person would certainly not anticipate Mycroft taking a single step towards romance, so I understand your amusement.  However…”

      “Yes?”

      “Mycroft is sincere in his wish that he and Lestrade craft some form of mutually-beneficial and affectionate relationship.  I would not have believed it possible, myself, if the evidence was not clearly presented.  It is utterly against his past patterns, but the proof is undeniable.”

      “Really?  That’s good to know.  Greg is putting a lot of faith in this, too, and it’s _very_ good to know he’s not alone.  But, I’ll tell you this for free… Mycroft had best tread carefully.  He’s done some not-so-smart things in this whole business and Greg won’t tolerate them forever.  He _will_ eventually say goodbye to protect himself.  Now, things happen in a relationship, that’s a fact that can’t be denied, but… it’s to your brother’s benefit not to add to those when he can help it.  Does that make sense?”

Unfortunately, Sherlock thought, it made _perfect_ sense.  And was something that he had to keep in mind, also, though he was a _far_ better romantic partner than his brother could ever be, no matter how hard the hippopotamus tried.

      “I shall be mindful of that as I continue to monitor the status of the experiment.”

      “WHAT!  No… oh no, you do not get to put your fingers into any of this like it’s one of your blasted experiments.”

      “Why not?”

      “Because… wait.  I know that look.  Are you, Sherlock Holmes, teasing me?”

      “Hmmmmmm… perhaps.”

John shook his head and smiled at Sherlock, who was beaming as proudly as a new father.

      “You did a good job of it.”

      “I am an incomparable humorist.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I would have said, too.  Now, go and visit Greg, will you, please.  And be decent, for god’s sake.”

      “I am always decent.  Is he still physically pitiful and a vision of weakness?”

      “How is that, in any way, being decent?”

      “I did not call attention to his homeliness, lack of intellectual prowess or appalling choice of footwear.”

On the Sherlock sliding scale, the detective had a point.

      “Do your best, alright?  Stopping off and bringing him a little gift wouldn’t be the worst idea, either.”

      “Such as a sack to wear on his head to hide the aforementioned homeliness?”

John walked over to get Sherlock’s coat and scarf, pressed them into Sherlock’s hands and pushed his partner out the door of the flat.  The thought of calling Greg to warn him flitted across the doctor’s mind, but only briefly.  Greg was continuously complaining about boredom, so here was a stellar opportunity to kick it in the arse for awhile.  Or kick Sherlock in the arse, if he was so inclined.  The man did have _one_ good leg, after all…

__________

      “Sherlock!  I actually wondered if you’d come.”

      “I had little choice as John evicted me from the flat.  Forcefully.  I was also commanded to purchase a gift, so… here.”

Sherlock tossed Lestrade the pack of chewing gum from his pocket and dropped his lanky frame into the chair near Lestrade’s sofa.

      “Perfect!  I can savor the sugary goodness and use de-sugared mass to plug holes in leaky pipes.”

      “I prefer multi-purpose gifts.”

      “Mission accomplished, I’d say.”

      “And, now, for the next part of the mission.  I will announce from the onset that I am, and have been, aware of your incipient relationship with my brother, so kindly forestall any tearful revelations that will only serve to impair my digestion.”

Lestrade gaped at the younger man and felt the world shift slightly under his sofa-flattening bum.

      “What?  Did John…”

      “John protected your nonsensical secret in the doggedly loyal manner for which he is known.  For your information, I have been aware of your unseemly pining for Mycroft since the moment it sprang forth and my brother is no better at hiding his romantic discombobulation.  He and I have discussed the matter and have come to an understanding as to how I expect this to proceed.  I am certain he will inform you of these expectations at some point, however, his sluggardly ways could make that point an inappropriate distance in the future, so I shall summarize.  Mycroft is besotted with you and cannot be counted on to behave in a predictable fashion until his mind processes the situation fully and finds a new equilibrium.  You will grant him the time and patience to reach this plateau and not hold against him the fact that he is utterly useless for anything related to human emotions.  For his part, he will treat you with consideration and make every attempt to be something other than his typically-dreary self so as to offer you a reasonably-enjoyable experience in his company.  We did not speak of sex, however, I do know he has some familiarity with the act and I will impress upon him the necessity of keeping you sexually satiated so you have no reason to complain of physical neglect.”

This time Lestrade was sure his mouth was on the floor, but he did his best to hoist it up to as not to appear entirely feeble-witted.

      “You… you knew about Mycroft and me?”

      “Have you gone hard of hearing?”

      “No, I just… I had no idea.”

      “Because it did not benefit me to inform you.”

      “Well, that’s understandable, given it’s you...”

But, there was something else in Sherlock’s speech that had Lestrade’s mind spinning in a circle and he decided it was best to broach it before his head screwed off of his neck.

      “… but, in all of that very disturbing speech… you approve?”

      “I do not _disapprove_ , if that is your concern.   If Mycroft has another diversion, he may be less inclined to visit his tedium on me.  If you are involved with my brother, it will facilitate my access to interesting cases and add the possibility of extortion to reopen your office door when you are suffering a fit of peevishness and have me banned from the Yard.  I know things about you, Lestrade.  Things Mycroft does not even know, if you take my meaning…”

The perfectly infantile threat warmed Lestrade’s heart, especially since Sherlock seemed to be settling in for more than a quick visit.  What lurked behind the juvenility was that Sherlock was happy for the two old men in his life and Lestrade was having to work hard to stop the wide grin that was desperate to crawl across his lips.  And, to think… he’d been worried Sherlock would explode when he found out!  Once again, the detective had outwitted him…

      “You know nothing, Sherlock.”

      “I know everything.  You forget I spent an entire month ferreting out your secrets when we first met and… my stockpile is both large and alarming.”

      “You made a few trips to police pubs and tried to trade drinks for information.  That was sad, lad.  Nothing but sad.”

      “That is what I _let_ you discover.  The true range of my investigation was vast.  The net cast was an immeasurably wide one.”

      “Does it hurt your mouth when you lie so much?  All that sourness eating away at the tender flesh?”

      “You mock, but Mycroft would pay dearly for even a morsel of my bounty.”

      “He’d give your head a knock for lying, you mean.”

      “We shall see.  Until then, be aware that _I_ am aware and take steps accordingly.”

      “Can’t take many steps now, I’m afraid.  Give me another week or two and maybe I can do more than the loo, the bedroom or the refrigerator.”

      “You are a disgrace, Lestrade.  Even Mycroft was able to traverse a full five miles with a bullet in his leg and a freshly fractured ulna.  I never thought he would be the more physically potent member of a couple, but you have proved me wrong.”

      “WHAT!  Mycroft… what do you mean… bullet?  Oh, this I have to hear.”

      “Hmmmmm… what do you offer?”

      “Oh, you bastard.  How about… one very juicy case.”

      “Five.”

      “Bollocks.  You’ll get two and not a single case more.”

      “Four and feel graced by my munificence.”

      “Can’t spell that, so no.  Two and… I’ll ask Molly to give you the lung samples you’ve been wanting.”

      “Three and liver samples as well as lung.”

      “Three cases and I look the other way if you draw blood from the next poisoning victim we find.”

      “Three cases and access to your files for dismemberment cases for my research on flesh wounds from non-metallic weapons.”

      “Done.  Now, get started.”

As Sherlock cleared his throat and prepared for what would undoubtedly be a highly insulting rendition of Mycroft’s plight, Lestrade settled back and enjoyed the feeling of undisguised happiness that sat merrily in his stomach.  Mycroft was besotted.  AND let his brother know about it.  That spoke volumes, didn’t it?  Mycroft didn’t part with information easily, especially not personal information and certainly not to Sherlock.  That said a lot and what it said was _very_ encouraging.  Tied in nicely with last night which was… well, if Mycroft knew the giddy and tawdry thoughts that accompanied him to sleep last night, the man would blush a shade of red that a rose would envy.  And little brother Sherlock didn’t have any objection to those giddy and tawdry thoughts, so that was one very substantial obstacle cleared.  Today was most certainly a fine day.  On top of a fine evening… once in  awhile, the good guys actually won…


	14. Chapter 14

One long and luxurious stretch and Mycroft pronounced himself pleased.  Rested and pleased.  In the few days since his splendid evening with the Detective Inspector, he had slept soundly and free from dreams, at least those that left their traces in his conscious memory.  It was a reward, he felt certain.  He had approached Gregory with hope in his heart and this was his reward.  Well, that and the bounty of physical affection dear Gregory was eager to provide.  Good lord, but the man was arousing…  simple kisses, some, perhaps, not quite so simple, but the barest bestowal of affection and his body felt set afire.  Still he could smell the spicy scent of the man’s skin and feel the warmth of his touch… now it was on him to continue the motion forward.  Like a proper… companion… he had answered texts, made phone calls when he had a free moment to verify Gregory’s condition, as well as share a few pleasant words that had no significance beyond enjoying the sound of his… companion’s… voice and reinforcing the notion that a relationship, of whatever form it might take, was still a highly-agreeable idea.

However, it was time to take another tangible step.  These past days had seen the world in one of its frequent knicker-twists and the unknotting had taken the vast lion’s share of his attention.  That, though, was at an end and a free evening was his for the taking.  Wasn’t it delightful that Gregory was very amenable to spending said evening in the company of a poor, overworked, minor government official who desired a few hours of shared relaxation?  And, he had the perfect idea for the structure of that relaxation, thanks to his little wish book and its dutiful scribing of his mental workings…

__________

_Official Date #1_

  It was time to commence.  The first official evening with Gregory as… companions.  That was insipid.  But, what term was more accurate?  Could they be termed a couple?  That seemed rather presumptuous, given the newness of their association.  Perhaps avoiding the issue of categorization was best for now.  As was the issue of crass and cowardly procrastination, which was surely what he was doing, as opposed to announcing his arrival with the ever-effective knock on the door.  How old was he again?  Verily, some days it seemed again he was returned to puberty’s cruel grasp… knock and meet thy fate, adolescent…

      “If that’s you, Mycroft, come in.  If it’s a tax collector, bugger off.”

      “Good heavens, Gregory, so vicious to those who toil for the betterment of the government’s coffers.”

See?  Witness my more-confident jocularity, made that way by your tender encouragement and honest appreciation of my efforts.

      “That’s my rebel streak.  It makes an appearance now and then.  Put me near a motorcycle and watch how quickly my hair spikes and my clothes turn to leather.”

Oh dear.  That was… was he salivating?  Gregory… appearing thusly… how could one’s heart beat so quickly and they not be suffering a fatal attack!  Such a mental image should be classed as a weapon of mass destruction.

      “I shall ensure that all two-wheeled motorized conveyances are henceforth forever beyond your reach to ensure the sanctity of your maturity.”

      “No!  That’s dastardly and fiendish!”

      “Now and again one must enact a fiendish plan for the good of the nation.”

Yes, Gregory, do smile at my continued attempts to appear other than a humorless fencepost. Only for you do I reveal myself so and never did I believe it could be so fulfilling…

      “Is that so?  And, what fiendish plan do you have in store for me tonight, Mr. Holmes?  Again with the armful of bags.”

Which Mycroft gladly lifted to display them to best effect.

      “Yes, my fiendishness knows no bounds, so I am most afraid you have a hellacious evening ahead of you.  Do prepare yourself accordingly.”

      “Girding my loins and reaching for my pain pills.”

      “Excellent.  I do appreciate a well-thought-out preparedness plan.  Now, let us see what I have wrought.  One… blanket.  And… lo!  A bottle of brandy.  Good heavens, could the evening descend further into the inky depths?  Yes, for here is… a film!  Aristotle’s beard – another film!  Truly, you are slated for chaos and upheaval this stygian and anarchic night.”

      “HA!  Bring me all you’ve got!”

      “Oh, I shall.  Might there be… oh, can there be another word than plethora for the variety of nibbles that are rising from the pits of despair to ensnare you in their talon-tipped grasp?”

      “If I’m headed for despair and misery, then I’d rather it be by a plethora than something weedy and unimpressive.”

      “An admirable frame of mind.  Now, you remain on your raft of moderate safety and I shall set in place the instruments of your torture.  Only a moment and we may begin.”

      “Bowls are in the cabinet next to the one with the plates.”

      “Your cooperation is most appreciated.”

      “Oh, and this blanket is amazing!  So soft. And certainly big enough to keep two people warm if they sit nice and close together.  And I bet it smells nice, too… it… uh… oh…”

Mycroft turned from his preparations and felt his still-racing heart stop completely when he saw Lestrade breath becoming labored and a redness beginning to form around his mouth and nose.

      “GREGORY!”

      “A…a…”

      “No, do not try and speak.  Help will be here m… momentarily.”

A quick flick of Mycroft’s finger on his mobile had an ambulance dispatched to Lestrade’s flat with the highest of priorities and Mycroft placed a second call, this one to John for immediate advice.  That Gregory was beating at him was further proof of the man’s distress.

      “Mycroft, why on Earth are you…”

Dear Gregory, do stop pummeling me and further stressing yourself.  And, I do know my name, so you should not overtax yourself repeating it so frequently.

      “Gregory is suffering an acute respiratory distress.  It manifested after he, apparently, placed a blanket to his face and inhaled its scent.”

      “Shite. Is there an ambulance on the way?”

      “Yes.  That was my first call.”

      “Good.  Can he breathe at all?  How badly is his throat constricted?”

      “It… there appears to be swelling, but some air is moving in and out.  He… he is severely distressed, John.  The reddening is worsening, as well.”

And his pleading eyes were filled with panic, which, coincidentally, appeared very similar to exasperation.

      “Ok… you don’t have… no you wouldn’t have epinephrine on you.  Shite!  Greg’s never mentioned an allergy, either!  Look, try and keep him calm and reassure him help is coming.  Let me know what hospital they take him to and I’ll meet you there, but I’ll stay on the line until the ambulance arrives.”

      “Thank you, John.  Did you hear, Gregory?  John is listening and shall advise as needed.  You must be calm, though, my dear.  As best you can.  Help is coming and will b… be here with utmost alacrity.  I promise you, Gregory, you shall be well.  Try your best to be calm…”

      “I _am_ calm, you  berk!”

Gregory’s upset was making him delusional!  As well as exceedingly intelligible.  This was a catastrophe!

      “Shhhh… my dear.  Help will arrive momentarily.”

      “Send them… Mycroft, I’m not dying!”

Not if it is at all within my power to prevent it!

      “Calm thoughts, Gregory.  Calm thoughts.”

      “Will you… shite!  Just see if I have antihistamines in my nightstand.”

How valiantly Gregory presented a courageous front in the presence of adversity!

      “Fine!  I’ll get them myself.  Move so I can…”

      “Gregory!  Do not move, my dear.  That shall surely speed the toxins through your body.  John!  Command Gregory to remain still!”

Lestrade finally reached out and snatched Mycroft’s mobile from his hand, using his wiliest set of moves to keep Mycroft from snatching it back.

      “John, it’s Greg.”

      “What!  How… what’s going on?”

      “This blanket must have angora in it.  I’ve got an allergy to it, but an antihistamine or two will fix things.  Had it happen before, just not from being an idiot and sniffing something I _know_ could have angora in it.”

      “Oh.  But, be honest with me, Greg.  Any tightness of the throat?  Problems breathing?  Eyes swelling up?”

      “A little, no and no.  Really, John, I _have_ had this happen before and I know what to do.  Same thing happens if I wear a scarf that I don’t check out properly beforehand.  I don’t need a medical team descending on me like hounds on a fox. Which… oh, the hounds have arrived.”

Lestrade was surprised they bothered to open the door with the knob instead of bursting through it, seeing the large brace of sturdy individuals dashing into his flat, beginning to set up a stretcher and open various medical kits before bearing down on him with grim looks set on their faces.  None of which was quite as grim, though, as his visitor’s who seemed to be mentally planning what to wear to the upcoming funeral.

      “Not dying, lads.  Sorry for the call-out.”

      “Gregory, allow the professionals to do their job.”

      “John, Mycroft’s still solidly in the ‘dying’ camp, therefore, could you have a chat with my new guests so they might leave me here to enjoy all the other things Mycroft brought by?”

      “Will you be a good boy and let them do an examination so we know everything is as fine as you want us to believe?”

      “An examination, yes.  A haul to hospital, no.”

      “Fair enough.  Unless it’s necessary.  Hand over the phone.”

Lestrade fought off Mycroft trying to grab the mobile again, and handed it to the person his trained eye said had charge of the invading force.  After a few moments of hmmming and nodding, said general handed back the phone to Lestrade and began an examination that ultimately won Lestrade an antihistamine injection and a small vial of additional capsules, as well as a tube of cream to use over the next few days to help with the rash that was merrily forming on his face.

      “They shot me, John.”

      “Good.  That should speed along the death of those pesky symptoms.  The rash will linger a bit, though, so aren’t you fortunate you can’t toddle off for milk and give the general public a fright.”

      “Sometimes luck goes my way.”

      “Usually, though it’s of the bad variety, so well done you for breaking your streak.  If anything changes, though, Greg… don’t hesitate to call me or let Mycroft get you to hospital.  Allergies get shrugged off, but they can be very serious things and really shouldn’t be taken for granted.”

      “I promise.  Thanks, John.  Sorry you had to be bothered.”

      “Not a problem.  All I was doing was watching a truly crap film whose only value was sending Sherlock directly to sleep.  He’s been on a research bender and hasn’t seen a wink in 36 hours.  Didn’t even wake up for this earth-shattering emergency.  I’ll stop in tomorrow, though, and take a look at things, if only to have a laugh at your expense.”

      “You’re a mate, John.  Really a man could do no better.”

Lestrade’s laughter matched John’s, though Mycroft didn’t share it when Lestrade handed back the mobile.

      “What?  That is the extent of it!  Unforgivable!  This man requires every diagnostic procedure known to medical science!”

Lestrade shared a look with the medics that spoke volumes about each other’s experiences with rather hysterical members of the public, especially when their… whatever he was to Mycroft… was involved.

      “Thanks, lads.  I feel better already.  Mycroft come and have a sit with me or, better yet, could you get me a little water?  I could use something cold to drink.”

Which also gave the medical team time to make a hasty retreat as Mycroft dashed to the kitchen to prepared a glass of water with the perfect ratio of liquid water to ice to soothe his dear Gregory’s savaged body.

      “Oh, that’s the right cool and refreshing stuff.  Perfect.  Absolutely perfect.”

      “Gregory, are you certain… it would do no harm to undergo a more rigorous series of checks to verify your health.”

      “I’m fine, Mycroft.  Ugly as the bottom of a worn shoe, but fine.  Actually, give me a mirror.  I want to see the horror in full color.”

      “Really, my dear, that is…”

Mycroft felt his own throat close up and hoped it would stay that way long enough for his body to starve of precious oxygen.  When… oh no.  How could he be so careless as to refer to Gregory with… an affectionate appellation!  Multiple times!  That was inexcusably forward!  Why was Gregory smiling?

      “Wondered if you’d realize that.  Surely, though, your powers of observation have also realized that I don’t mind a bit.  I like it, actually, so I’m keeping it.”

      “I… you do?  You are?”

      “Oh yes, so no trying to take it back.”

      “I see.  Well… I…”

      “You are bringing me a mirror so I can laugh at myself and then we’re getting back to what you apparently had planned for the evening, albeit with a far shoddier blanket that you’ll bring from the closet in my bedroom.”

      “I apologize profusely for that, Gregory.  There is no mention of your allergy in… well…”

      “You’ve been reading my file, haven’t you?  Not that I thought you hadn’t, of course; probably from the first day I met Sherlock.  Don’t worry about it.  That’s a big brother action if I’ve ever heard of one, not that many big brothers have access to every file on every person in the country.  And, no, that bit of information is not in there.  Never really thought it important enough to mention because the worst my allergy ever does is what you saw tonight.  I get a rash for a couple of days and once I must have gotten some fibers in my nose because I got a little throat tightening, too.  But, that’s all.  I keep antihistamines on hand in case I have it flare up on me, but its not something that happens often.  It is not, repeat not, once again so you understand me clearly NOT, your fault this happened.  I know better than to handle hats, scarves, jumpers, gloves and blankets without peeking at the label first.  Your sexiness must have fuddled my brain.”

Lestrade smiled wickedly and Mycroft felt the first break in his anxiety begin to form.  What a visceral experience… Gregory must think him a…

      “And stop that, too.”

      “P… pardon?”

      “You’re starting to worry that I think you were incredibly silly, aren’t you?  Just stop that worry right now.  I’d rather you call an ambulance and I don’t need it than you don’t call one and I do.  Really, love, just stop fretting and find me that mirror.  And I know you’ve got marvelous things hidden in those bags you nearly dropped on the kitchen floor, so let’s see what merry we can make, all right?”

Mycroft’s tiny, excited squawk at Lestrade’s own affectionate appellation made the DI’s heart skip a beat.  Apparently, he wasn’t the only one in the room who appreciated something personal and special between… friends.

      “Your own observational powers are most admirable, Detective Inspector.”

      “And don’t you forget that.  Right now, it’s the only good feature I have what with my face looking… where’s my mirror!  I need to see the carnage to give it the proper description.”

      “If I may offer… lava-kissed might be adequate.”

      “That bad?”

      “I am actually most astonished that you are not clawing at your skin and shrieking in agony.”

      “It itches, if that helps.”

      “Boils and sores might be a blessing, I think.”

      “Maybe a mirror can wait.  Might you have an idea to take my mind off the clawing and shrieking?”

      “Brandy?”

      “You perfect man.”

      “A classic film noir offering?”

      “I worship you.”

      “Excellent.  Then my fiendish plan was a success.”

      “Except for the lava.”

      “That was a tad unexpected, but fiendishness does come at a price.”

      “I’ll remember that.”

      “See that you do.”

Though an investigation would immediately commence for any further bits of vital information that may have slipped, intentional or not, through the cracks in Gregory’s personal file.  Though this file would remain solidly in his possession since said information might not be proper for eyes other than those with serious and intimate concerns about the Detective Inspector’s well-being.  What a debacle… Gregory was not being entirely truthful about the degree of his discomfort, but no mention would be made of that to spare the man’s not insubstantial pride.  But, he must do better for Gregory than tonight’s pitiful showing. He had been presented with solid and worthwhile ideas for wooing the man and one had already been botched.  That left only three, with the last… the last likely existing only if the preceding ones were successful.  There was little margin for failure and he was very likely near the limit at this point in time… much rested on their next encounter and there would be no, not a bit, of problem with it as long as his name was Mycroft Holmes…

__________

Lestrade grinned and set down his phone, rubbing his hands together in gleeful expectation.  Another fine evening with a certain someone on the horizon.  Not that he’d been out of contact with the tall, luscious man, because Mycroft had stopped in nearly every day to check that his face hadn’t melted completely off his skull and browbeat John for allowing any lingering redness and bumpiness to, well,  linger, but it had been for brief visits only.  Which, strangely, was wildly encouraging.  Mycroft was very busy, you could see that in every move he made, but he still took time to phone or make a 15-minute stop just to see one bedraggled copper was well and that his needs were being met.  That said a lot.  That said a very lot.  And, tonight, they’d get another chance for some real time together, without the spots and lava, so this should be positively brilliant…

_Official Date #2_

No fibrous material in evidence that had not been independently-verified as angora-free by the government’s most respected forensics laboratory.  Driver also verified as being angora-free down to his underpants and socks.  Vehicle provided with Gregory’s favorite libations, as well as a perfectly-chilled bottle of quality champagne, and an assortment of nibbles appropriate to be eaten with fingers as the sole utensil.  This, at least, so go smoothly.  Dear heavens, but this needed to go smoothly… now, knock on the door you quivering reed and let the smoothness begin…

      “Mycroft!  Look at you… I do appreciate a man who properly fills out a pullover.”

No preening!  You chose this ensemble specifically because someone who might be your infernal PA said it was a flattering style and color combination for you, so unseemly pride is… unseemly.

      “Thank you.  And I do believe you also went to some effort to enhance your own appearance, did you not?”

Gregory was breathtaking.  The scamp was highly aware how to highlight the glory of his argentous hair and had implemented the protocols in full force.

      “Might have.  I’ve got a stunning man willing to see me around London in a fine vehicle so I can get some air in my lungs that hasn’t circulated around this flat for what seems like an eternity.  That certainly deserves a bit of primping.  Are we ready to go?”

      “So eager.  One would think you were enduring some form of convalescence.”

      “I’m weak and pitiful, that’s my only excuse.  Can’t even take a manly stroll and breathe in lungsful of London air or chew on trees or anything.”

      “Dear me, is arboreus mastication some new signifier of masculinity?”

      “Yes.”

      “I suppose I should begin sharpening my teeth.”

      “I’ll lend you my file.  Can we go now?  Can we?”

Mycroft chuckled at Lestrade’s near bouncing on the sofa and moved to help him up.

      “Now, you will proceed at a safe and sedate pace to the car, will you not?  I would hate to have to carry you, but if I feel you are endangering yourself with shenanigans, I certainly shall.”

      “From a man who walked five miles with a bullet in him, as well as a broken arm, I believe you would, too.”

What!  That information was _very_ highly classified!

      “How… how did you know that?”

      “I’ll give you one guess.  As a clue, his name begins with Sherlock.”

Naturally.  And the tale was likely presented with the most maligning of hand-gestures, facial expressions and vocal intonations.

      “Of course.  And I have no doubt he will be giddy to regale you with all of my less shining moments, especially when I have piqued his ire in some manner.”

      “I wouldn’t call that a less shining moment.  THAT was the finest example of manliness I’ve heard of about a real person in quite some time.  If ever.  Real action hero stuff.  I was very impressed.”

      “Oh.  You were?”

      “ _Very_ impressed.”

      “Well… thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.  Now, if I promise no shenanigans, can we go?  I’m dying to see something other than my four fucking walls.”

      “Of course.  But do take care.”

      “Hmmmm…. I’m reconsidering.  If I do that, you won’t carry me, which is starting to sound like a world of fun.”

      “And which would give your neighbors a most entertaining viewing experience, I am most certain.”

      “They’ll think we’re eloping.  While that would be funny, they’d be here yelling at me for not having a wedding to invite them to because they’re all miserable freeloaders and they think they’ve missed a feast of free food and drink.  Alright, I’ll be a good boy and go slowly because I don’t need their nattering in my ears for the next month.”

Mycroft tutted the man he was escorting to his door, then down the very slick corridor and, finally, to the sedan that idled at the curb waiting for its passengers.

      “Whew!  That was a bit of effort, but it was worth it!  I love driving around London at night!  Or, in this case, being driven.  I’ve never appreciated your mysterious dark sedans more than this very moment.”

      “I thought it appropriate for your first time out of your flat.  A relaxing ride around the city can be quite the enjoyable venture, especially when one can let another do the driving.  Of course, when you are ambulatory, we might explore on foot and take a deeper look at what London offers.”

      “I’d love that!  Stroll about on a lovely day… that’s one of my favorite pastimes, as a matter of fact.  Sharing it with you would be absolutely brilliant.  Kiss to seal the deal?”

      “Without question.”

Mycroft leaned in and almost sighed in pleasure at the feel of Lestrade’s lips against his.  This was the reason kisses were invented.  Not for the casual busses of mother to child, but for inspiring the most stirring of either passion or comfort in the one you… admired.

      “Amazing.  I am still amazed by how wonderfully you kiss, Mr. Holmes.”

      “I return the sentiment, Mr. Lestrade.”

      “Can we kiss while we ride?”

      “Your exuberance for your voyage is most becoming.  It has your cheeks quite flushed with pleasure.”

      “No, that’s what your kisses do to me.  The ride is what has me wiggling in my seat like a schoolboy with ants in his pants.”

      “Ah, yes.  I now consider myself fully informed on the situation.”

      “So, we can go?”

Mycroft laughed and rapped on the glass separating the compartments of the car to set the car in motion.  This was going to be magnificent… enjoying the lights and sights of London with a man who he had fantasized about doing this very thing with one more than one occasion.  Was there anyone on Earth more fortunate than was he?  No, no there simply could not be…

__________

Was there anyone on Earth more cursed than was he?  No, no there simply could not be…

      “Mycroft, you need to settle down.  It’s not a problem, really.”

Not a problem?  A traffic snarl such as London had not seen in… blast!  A multi-vehicle traffic collision, two actually, in perfectly-placed locations so the traffic was now enmeshed in a Gordian knot that his own resources could not even break without airlifting their vehicle from the road.  If that would not assuredly find it’s way onto the evening’s news reports, with Gregory’s gleeful face pressed to the window of the car, that, just perhaps, would already be occurring.

      “We are supposed to be enjoying a leisurely ride through the city.  This is neither leisurely nor a ride.”

      “No to the latter, but why not to the former?  We’ve got food and drink, the seat’s comfortable and we don’t have anywhere else to be tonight, so relax and try to enjoy the fact that we’ve got tinted glass and nobody can watch us while we enjoy that food, drink and a bit of kissing while we wait to start moving again.”

      “It is utterly unsporting to combat my peevishness with rational argument.”

      “I’m not known for being sporting.  Sorry about that.”

      “I shall forgive you this once if you salve my wounds with a kiss.”

      “I’ll do my very best.”

      “Your assistance is most appreciated.”

__________

      “Mycroft.”

      “Gregory.”

      “ _Mycroft_.”

      “ _Gregory_.”

      “I know what that squirming means, you know.”

      “Nonsense.”

      “Much sense, actually.  We’ve been here hours and drank more than our fair share of champagne.”

      “Irrelevant.”

      “You’re giving me one word answers, so I know how bad you’re suffering.  Here…”

Lestrade reached down and picked up the empty champagne bottle from the floorboard and held it out to the scowling man at his side.

      “I actually can get the cork back into this, so have a wee and return yourself to your previous good mood.”

      “That is revolting.  I refuse.”

      “I’ll go, too, if that helps.”

      “It certainly does not.”

      “You know, you won’t be so scowly and stubborn when your lovely trousers are wet and so is the seat beneath you.  You’ll be snarly, snappish and sheepish and that’s one too many s-words to make for a happy evening.”

      “I would never!  It… you paint the situation in far darker colors than it actually boasts.”

      “Mycroft, I’ve spent more hours than you, most likely, sitting in motionless cars.  Hours upon hours and you can’t run to the nearest coffee shop to beg the use of their facilities because the suspect can appear at any time and writing ‘lost person of interest because of insistent bladder’ on an official report isn't a wise thing if you want to keep your job.  Want me to tell you how the lady policemen handle the situation?  They’ve got special equipment and everything.”

      “NO!  No, I can live the entirety of my days without certain facts lurking in my mind.”

      “Then be happy nature gave you a proper hose and just have a wee!”

      “Gregory!”

      “I’m serious!  Blokes throughout history have whipped it out and had a nice wee when the body needed it, so why are you being so prim about things.  Here… I’ll go first and you can watch or not watch as you want.”

      “Wait!  No!  Gregory… you are urinating into a bottle.”

      “And making a good show of it, too.  Not a dribble to be found.”

      “This is… I have never…”

      “Well, then you should.  In fact, you should do it now before dribbling’s not your worst worry.  I’ll even look out the window and not peek a bit, even though _you_ did, but I won’t hold that against you because who wouldn’t want a peek at what I have to offer.  It was a lovely sight, wasn’t it?  Don’t bother to answer, because yes, yes it was.”

Lovely was not the word… entrancing was a better fit.  Gregory’s fingers certainly told the true anatomical tale, didn’t they?

      “I will not dignify that with an answer.”

      “Because you’re prim and nervous about being a normal man for one second and not the gorgeous, suave, sophisticated ultra-powerful god on earth people see when you walk by.  I know you’ve got a penis, as well as a bladder, love, so go ahead and make use of both so we can enjoy the next however many hours we’re here in comfort.”

Evil, evil man… but… god on earth?  Gorgeous.  Suave and sophisticated.  Was there no limit to the size to which his ego could inflate when Gregory was near?  Given that level of enlargement, surely such a… squalid… act could not make too great a dent in Gregory’s mental image?

      “Very well.  But I hold you to your word not to spy upon my elimination.”

      “Not spying.  Looking at that horrid office building on our left and thinking about all the poor bastards up in there having to work tonight and not out with someone spectacular for a bit of company.  How’s it going, by the way?”

      “Silence!”

How was he supposed to… perform… with Gregory’s affability interfering with his concentration!

      “Being silent.  Being very silent.  You know, I wonder if I ask Molly would she know about a spray or something to paralyze the vocal cords.  That could be very useful now and then when Sherlock is at a crime scene and I’m a bit hungover or it’s not even dawn and there’s no coffee in sight.”

      “You are not helping.”

      “I could, though.  Need a friendly hand to…”

      “NO!”

      “Fine!  Fine… do it all yourself then.  Be Mr. Self-Sufficient.  I wouldn’t mind, though.  In fact, you break both arms and you can count on Greg Lestrade to be there for you when you need a spot of help with aim.”

      “I am going to have you deported if you utter one further word.”

      “Can it be somewhere sunny?  I could do with a little sunshine and warmth.  They need cops, too, so I could probably find a job without too much trouble.  Even if there were no open positions, I could live on the beach and eat coconuts until something became available.  Make a fire and catch some fish now and then.  See!  I can be self-sufficient, too, though mine is certainly more fun than yours with your pee—shyness.”

      “I am not pee shy!”

      “I bet that’s something you never thought you’d say in this life.”

      “I… I will throttle you, Gregory Lestrade.  I will spill you onto the road and throttle you with hundreds of witnesses if you do not remain silent!”

Lestrade made a grand show of zipping shut his grinning lips and Mycroft used every ounce of his willpower to relax enough to complete his mission, angling matters in such a way that there was no unsettling… sound… to accompany his relief.  Which was profound.  Not that he would admit such to Gregory, who was a capering chimpanzee when he chose to be and deserved no reward for his foolishness.

      “Look at that relieved smile on your face.  Nothing better than a long piss when you’ve been about to explode for what feels like a week.”

Villain.

      “We will never speak of this again.”

      “Of course, Your Highness.  Now, give that here and… see, you just have to push and twist and press on the bottom just a bit and a bit more and push harder… voila!  One expertly corked champagne bottle ready for… hey!”

One expertly corked champagne bottle that was now being carried by a highly agitated man to the bin that was conveniently placed near the corner of the road they weren’t moving along.

      “You know, that glass could have been recycled.”

      “You are a villain, Gregory Lestrade.  An unrivaled and black-hearted villain.”

      “No, I’m a DI who has had to piss in more cups and bottles than you can count and has stood next to countless other men in public toilets when nature called.  And… oh, a wipe.  Ok, fingers all smelling like disinfectant now, but that’s a small price to pay, I suppose.  Kiss?”

Mycroft side-eyed Lestrade and huffed a loud sigh before leaning his cheek over to receive a peck.

      “Are you this squeamish about showers, too?”

      “You cannot possibly be advocating a shower while in this vehicle!”

      “Well, no… but I suppose a bath would be possible if you’ve got enough wipes.  We really don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

      “I do believe it is time to open the scotch.”

      “I do believe you’re right.”

As Mycroft drained his first glass in one swallow, he sent up his most ardent prayers to whatever deity was passing by to deliver him from this personal hell.  Two attempted socializations… TWO… which spiraled quickly to the bad and… how was he to win Gregory’s heart if he could not affect a proper evening of companionship?  If each time he reached out it was with a thorny branch and not a flower.  Which Gregory would probably be allergic to and start this whole mess over again!

The book… he had avoided his little wish book and now it was surely dripping red ink onto his expensive rug like blood from the two evenings he had slaughtered in a truly heinous fashion.  For now, chin up, wear a smile and do everything possible to see the remainder of this evening a happy one for the Detective Inspector.  Then… strategize.  Plan, strategize and make the next salvo an effective one.  Two beautiful evenings were botched by his incompetence and now… now his chances were dwindling.  One more simple encounter was in his path before… well, there would never be the laying of hands on Gregory’s gloriously naked body if the next attempt went as badly as these first two.  But… how badly could one bungle a rainy afternoon of reading?  Please, dear universe, let him not be the first man in history to find out…


	15. Chapter 15

      “John said you were interesting.  You are not interesting.”

Lestrade grinned at the large troll standing at the door of his flat and beckoned him to drag his club in and have a seat.

      “You waited too long, lad.  If you’d visit more than once a decade, you could have had the full-color show.  Probably, dare I say it, take some photos or samples for your collection of the oozy stuff from where I scratched.  Too bad.”

Sherlock fumed royally and, as royally, hurled himself into his chair, leaving Lestrade to marvel at how the younger man could telepathically maneuver his coat so it didn’t have to be adjusted even a hair once he was seated.

      “Then I will obtain a new source of angora and you will, as a duty to science, sniff it so I may take notes on the results.”

      “Let me think… no.”

      “Science demands it.”

      “Science can get its own itchy rash and take all the data it wants, but I’m done for the year.  Or five.  Actually, I haven’t had it that bad in a very long time.  Luckily, or not for the safety of his eyes, your brother was here.”

      “As he was the vector of contagion, I will ignore your delusions.”

      “No, it’s true, really.  It’s not pleasant to have that happen and there’s a great deal of comfort knowing someone is there with you.”

Which was completely true.  Mycroft had been incredible that night.  Adorable and incredible.  Heaven forbid something really terrible happened, but if it did, there was a lot of security in knowing that Mycroft would take every step possible to see it remedied and be a tremendous source of support until the suffering was over.

      “You are stupidly besotted.”

      “You said that about Mycroft.”

      “You are both stupidly besotted.”

      “We match!  Sherlock Holmes, bringer of glad tidings.  I never thought I’d see the day.  I think I feel a bit of a cry coming on.”

Something that Lestrade was more than happy to pantomime, much to Sherlock’s annoyance.

      “Unless that will, also, prompt a histamine reaction, it does not interest me.”

      “Then what would?  Tell me, oh ringer of bells and bringer of glad tidings… just what would interest you this fine, or as fine as it can be for London, afternoon?”

      “Nothing.  John insisted I stop on the way to Bart’s and verify that you are among the living and, as he termed it, properly provisioned.  Since he did not state, specifically, what I am to do if you are dead or lacking survival supplies, I have no real idea what he expects me to accomplish.”

When one was off one’s feet, a few good friends made life a hell of a lot easier and Lestrade was already readying the nights in the pub with which he’d gift the good doctor for keeping an eye on one pitiful DI in his many hours of need.  For Sherlock, he’d find a nice corpse or two for the boy to play with.

      “I think he just wants an eyewitness report.  I always tell him I’m fine when I phone, but I don’t think the miserable sod necessarily believes me.”

      “As John has a fairly sound baseline measurement for your intelligence and situational awareness, I can see why that’s the case.”

      “Funny.”

      “I know.”

      “All that joke-telling practicing is paying dividends.”

Sherlock actually smiled proudly at the declaration and Lestrade laughed at, truly, how little it took to give Sherlock a boost.  The shame, of course, was that the lad pushed away the majority of the world so only a few people had the chance to give him that boost.  What _wasn’t_ a shame was that those few were happy to do it.

      “John remarked only yesterday that my humor has increased a full 12% since we met.”

      “Did he show you his data?”

      “That is _not_ funny.”

      “I tried.  But, to satisfy your partner’s curiosity, I am fully alive and still have food and toiletries left from the last run to the shops.”

      “You cannot run to the shops.”

      “No, but John can.  Mycroft can, too.”

      “Mycroft cannot run to the shops.  Mycroft cannot run to the _kitchen_ if he smelled a cake baking.”

      “That’s an evil lie and you know it.  But, I will credit you with the likelihood that your brother had one of his minions do the actual shopping and he simply took the delivery part of the mission.”

Lestrade endured Sherlock’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips and waited while the detective finished whatever observing, deducing or gas passing was necessary before they continued their conversation.

      “Mycroft delivered your groceries?”

      “Look at that surprise on your face.  He did.  Several times, actually.  And brought by a few little things to make life more comfortable.  You’re a bastard to him sometimes, Sherlock, but your brother does care and shows it.  He demonstrates it in lots of ways, big and little, and, yes I’ll admit, some are a tad different than what most people can do, like keeping a watchful eye with all of that super-spy surveillance equipment he has at his fingertips, but it’s just another way he shows he cares.  You’d do well to remember that.”

Sherlock’s rude noise was entirely expected and any stray spittle stayed well clear of the DI who was happy the sofa and chair were separated by a sanitary distance.

      “Lovely.  You should go on one of those talent shows.”

      “If I did that, I would surely win, for any of the multitude of talents I possess.”

      “First among them being modesty.”

      “I am supremely modest.  Unlike Mycroft who is a pretentious puffed partridge and utterly unsuitable for company with anyone besides others of his flock.”

      “Wrong again.  You’re got a winning record going today, don’t you?  Mycroft is great company, for your information.  Whether we’re talking or watching a film, having a bit of a spin around the city… I have a brilliant time with him and I’m not so desperate for companionship that I’d say that if it wasn’t true.  Mycroft might put up a stoic front, and he has to for what he does in life, but that’s not the case when we’re enjoying a night with good food and better conversation.”

      “You shall certainly not win a so-called talent shows for your oratory ability amounts to nil.  An embarrassing nil, at that.”

Lestrade laughed and threw a stub of a pencil at Sherlock who impressed the DI mightily by catching and tossing it back to land in Lestrade’s empty water glass.

      “Talent #2!  We could make money on this, Sherlock.  Think about it.  I can be your manager, well, when I can walk without these silly sticks, and I’ll only take the slimmest cut of your earnings.  You won’t find a better deal, so act fast.”

      “I would rather eat something Anderson has cooked.”

      “I would, too, actually.  He’s good, in case you didn’t know.  Made me a few sick-and-injured meals and I have to say that I’d be content for him to make a habit of it.”

      “Your testicles are probably shrinking from the proximity of the food to the shriveling effect of his person.”

      “I’ll have Mycroft check them when he stops in next.”

      “I am now leaving.”

      “That might be best.”

Sherlock performed a reverse hurl and flung himself to his feet, coat swishing dashingly around him, much to Lestrade’s amusement, and marched to the door, stopping only, the DI noticed, to run an eye over the state of the flat.  Sherlock was a good lad, all things considered, he just needed more practice showing how good a lad he could be.  But, since today wasn’t the day of the exam, a petulant toddler was allowed to stride imperiously out of the flat, leaving Lestrade to snatch up his phone and call John.

      “What do you want now, you rubbish copper?  It can’t be time to clean your cage again.”

      “But you weren’t sure, were you, so you sent over the person least likely to spend one second in my stinky cage as a test.”

      “What?”

      “Sherlock!  You could just have called, you know, but it was good to see him.  I suspect he’s not terribly comfortable with people… well, I was going to say who were sick or hurt, but I’ll just leave it at ‘not terribly comfortable with people’ since that’s closer to the whole truth.”

      “What are you going on about, Greg?  I didn’t send Sherlock to see you.”

Lestrade lifted the mobile from his ear, stared at it, then wondered why he was staring at plastic and got back to the conversation.

      “You didn’t?”

      “No.  He said I did?”

Sometimes, the lightbulb went on in one’s head and made a few things clear.

      “Yes… but I suppose that’s what he _would_ say if he didn’t want me to think he actually cared or worried and stopped in for his own reasons.”

      “Ohhh… yeah, that is true.  I think I know a particular consulting detective who is going to have charge of the telly remote tonight as a reward for good behavior.”

      “Not that he’ll know that’s the reason, of course.”

      “And have him never do anything nice again in his life?  Fuck no.”

      “That’s solid relationship skills, John.  Nicely done, I’m impressed.”

      “I do consider myself somewhat of an expert.  But, since we’re on the subject of your tenuous welfare, how are you settled for feed?  Is the trough filled?  Got clean straw on the floor?”

      “I’d say yes for most of that.  The straw’s a bit messy, but I’ll open a window soon and let the wind blow it out of the stable.”

      “Smart.  I was going to check in tomorrow anyway, so I’ll bring a fresh bale with me to spread around.”

      “Mycroft will appreciate that.  He’s very particular about tidy straw.”

And on to the subject that John had been slightly cautious about pressing for information, but was nearly hollow from his curiosity burning a hole in his core.

      “And, since we’re on a new subject, how _are_ things with Mycroft?  Any plans for another date?”

      Things are good!  I couldn’t ask for anyone more attentive for a… whatever the term is for old men eyeing each other with sexy intent.  After that one rough patch, he’s been amazing, really.  I know he’s busy and can’t stop in every night for a film or something, but he texts and phones to check in and just to talk without any specific purpose.  It’s nice… it’s what I always hoped for, if I’m honest.  I know he and I won’t have the clingiest of relationships, but tiny things make a world of difference and he’s certainly doing them.”

      “Tiny things _do_ make a world of difference, so I’m certainly happy to hear that bit of wisdom wasn’t lost on the man in the very fine suit.”

It definitely wasn’t and that was something that Lestrade gripped tightly and gave a kiss now and then to celebrate his good fortune.  A man like Mycroft, powerful, important and insanely busy, understood the value of the little things in life and that was not necessarily something he’d expected.  If he was honest, he’d worried about it a tad and wondered how he’d broach the subject if it seemed like they’d be together for a good long while, but that was a worry that died a swift and well-deserved death.  His Mycroft Holmes was a full-package and that wasn’t a porny statement, either!  It could be porny, though, because… well, what little he’d seen proved that when that particular point in their relationship arrived, he was going to be one very happy man.  Mycroft’s porny bits looked absolutely delicious!  There was, however, one tiny fly in the ointment…

      “He worries, though.  About doing things right, I mean.  I think he’s scared he’ll make a mess of us, that he’ll disappoint me.”

      “You mean the same things you worry about?”

      “Yes!  But, I _know_ it’s normal to worry about all of that.  I don’t think he does.  I think Mycroft believes he’s lacking some mystical knowledge or skill that the rest of us have, despite that amazing brain of his.  That he’s the only one who worries or thinks they’re never doing enough or doing anything correctly.”

You couldn’t miss the signs of worry, uncertainty and insecurity on Mycroft’s face sometimes and they made Lestrade’s heart ache every time he saw them because that glorious man shouldn’t have so much doubt about being a proper partner.  Now that they’d connected, it was clear… well it was clear to him that they had the very real potential of being together for a very long time.  Two very’s in one sentence meant his Mycroft needed to take a deep breath and let his fears flow away…

      “You could be right.  Sherlock has a good case of that, too.  He tries to hide it and it only really applies to the few people in his life he actually cares about, but I can certainly imagine Mycroft suffering the same train of thought.  Have you talked to him about it?”

      “No.  I don’t think he’d necessarily appreciate me calling attention to things.  I do try and let him know, clearly, that I’m happy that we’re together and that I enjoy the time we spend together.  I’m not shy about any of that.  It’s evidence, right?  Data?  The sort of thing that Holmes brain of his needs to make sense of everything.  Draw the conclusions he needs to accept he’s doing a great job and I’m more than willing to see this as far as it can go.”

      “Again, you could be right.  As strong and confident as Mycroft is, I also think he still could be spooked away by too much dissection of what’s going on between you.  Letting him come around to things on his own might be the best way to handle the situation.”

      “Precisely.  I am the master strat… strateg… strategician?”

      “Strategist.”

      “Strategists don’t need robust vocabulary.”

      “Lucky for you.”

      “Hope Mycroft isn’t the jealous type because Lady Luck does favor me with her… favors.”

      “There’s you with your pretty words again.  Write a few down for me, why don’t you, while you continue to languish in your lonely misery because I have better things to do with my day than talk to you.”

      “It’s alright you’re blinded by my dazzle, John.  Most people are.”

      “I’ll don a welder’s mask before I visit tomorrow.”

      “And don’t forget crisps.  That is something I _could_ use more of.”

      “Crisps in the mouth, fat on the arse.”

      “Then, make them those lower-fat kind.”

      “But buy twice as many bags.”

      “Exactly.”

Both John and Lestrade shared the thought that it was good to have friends that understood how you think as they terminated the call and John took the moment to huff a small, relieved puff of breath.  With their history, he still harbored some concern that Mycroft would do something ridiculous and shatter Lestrade’s hopes, but that concern would _not_ be made known to the man who was truly happy with how things were going and looking forward to seeing just how far they _could_ go.  Sometimes you just had to wait and watch and be there if things went sour.  Of course, if things continued to go well, Greg could keep to himself any intimate detail about his and Mycroft’s relationship.  There was a limit to the bounds of friendship and certain details would sit tidily and forever in the out-of-bounds territory heretofore termed ‘Greg’s sexual wasteland.’  Ok, now he’d thought the words ‘sexual’ and ‘Greg’ in the same mental sentence.  It was time for tea.  Tea healed all wounds…

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?”

See the stacks of papers on my desk and the furrowed aspect of my brow?  Are these not clues?  On top of the very pointed clues I provided when I entered this space after a particularly grueling meeting with someone who shall remain nameless though, for purposes of exposition, he was the PM and a dunderhead of legendary proportions.

      “I do believe I asked not to be disturbed, Anthea.”

      “Alright, then.  I’ll leave your brother out here to do whatever he decides to do to repay your refusal to see him.  I’ll pop some popcorn to enjoy while watching the fun.”

She would, too.  Not a single call to security, but a wealth of snacks to celebrate the destruction.  Dastardly woman… with a dastardly brother waiting in the proverbial wings.  Truly this day was a blessed one…

      “Very well, send him in.”

      “As if you could keep me out.”

Sherlock shouldered by Mycroft’s PA, flailing to keep his balance when he contacted the heeled-shoe foot that ‘accidentally’ crossed his path.

      “You should sack her.”

      “Between having you incarcerated and having her sacked, the former is both easier and far more satisfying.  Now, to what do I owe this decidedly non-pleasure?”

      “I am here for a status report.”

      “Oh, as you wish.  The current situation in Paraguay is such that…”

      “Why do you and Lestrade believe yourselves masters of wit and savior faire?  The reality of the situation is that you are aged, sag-skinned, near-pensioners who, on a positive day, can remember to wear your pants beneath your trousers rather than vice versa.”

And they were off to a rollicking start.  But, that did bring something interesting to the fore…

      “I take it you paid a call on Gregory today.”

      “I required data on the standing of your relationship.  He is sufficiently simple to baffle and mine for useful information that I began there in the interests of efficiency.  Not that he _often_ boasts a stockpile of useful information, but, on occasion, I am rewarded with some few morsels of relevant facts.”

Sherlock visited Gregory and acquired _information_.  Potentially, of the most incriminating and sensitive nature.  This was… the situation must be handled delicately…

      “I rather doubt that.  Not that Gregory is a repository of valuable and applicable information and knowledge, but that he would be so easily parted with it.  Your boastfulness is, as ever, your undoing, brother dear.”

      “Attempting to inspire my ego so I prematurely reveal my hand has not been a successful strategy since I passed the age of ten.”

No, it was still a _highly_ successful strategy, just not when applied by a clumsy and fumble-fingered hand.  Truly, his mind was not in the game today, at least for matters pertaining to Gregory.  Tomorrow was slated to be a perfectly drizzly day and an excellent choice for their next assignation.  Which had to proceed perfectly or there was a significant chance that it would be their last.  What man would tolerate a trio of disastrous meetings?  None.  Not a single man of integrity would do so and his Gregory was certainly well-described in that manner.  That it would leave his own heart spewing veritable cascades of life’s blood into the black hole of his soul would be a proper penalty for his failure.  As was the knowledge that his mind had little difficulty thinking in the most melodramatic and weeping-into-one’s-lace-handkerchief forms of thought.

      “Believing my curiosity could be inspired by your attempts at chumming the proverbial waters with the most flavorless of bait is also a terribly unsuccessful strategy, brother dear.  Do make your best effort or leave me to tend to the rather mountainous amount of work I need to complete before we see the new day.”

      “My bait is _extremely_ flavorful.  Of the most indescribable succulence.  Or, by your standards, as of the most decadent cupcake ever created, sporting a smooth and silky swath of the richest buttercream.”

      “Where… will your obsession with cake ever wane?”

      “Describe to me what happened to my birthday cake when I was eight years of age.”

      “I… I have no memory of its fate.”

      “Perhaps because you ate it too quickly for the event to be impressed upon your synapses.  Mummy was volcanic as she labored a fortnight on its baking.”

      “Mummy purchased it at the local bakery the morning of your celebration because her talents in this world certainly did not veer in the direction of baking.  _My_ birthday cake at age eight is more than testament to that fact.  Father chipped a tooth upon the first bite.  A mere crumb fell onto the floor and we all dove to protect you, lest your contented playing at Father’s feet end with a crater in your skull that extended to your spinal column.”

      “That does not excuse your baked-good gluttony.”

      “Perhaps not, but the decades in between then and now does diminish one’s more juvenile urges.”

      “Such as attempting to hide the details of your romantic situation?  I would say that is the apex of juvenility.  Do you scribble at night in your pastel-hued journal, using a feather-topped pen dipped in purple ink to draw hearts around yours and Lestrade’s conjoined names?”

His journal was a manly green, thank you very much, and it was more than content to scribe itself.  Though, it had been somewhat quiet in recent days, likely owing to the reduced frequency of his dreams.  After the shameful outcome of his two attempts to properly entertain Gregory, it would be expected that his dreams again descend upon him like an angered bird of prey, yet the mauling had yet to arrive.  Perhaps it was simply lying in wait for the final stroke of the executioner’s axe to shred his beheaded corpse as a gift to the worms.

      “Is there an actual point to this visit, Sherlock or are you simply bored?”

      “I stated my purpose in very forthright terms.  I demand a status report for your romance with Lestrade.  I have his summary and I require yours for comparison.”

      “Why do you believe I would tell a tale different from his?”

      “Because you are a quivering doomsayer in regards to your romance and cannot be trusted with its proper management.  It is my duty, as the one who lost his cake for not one, but TWO birthdays, to act as the more mature of us and see you appropriately chastised if you are sinking this opportunity like the Titanic.”

      “I am _not_ to blame for your twelfth birthday cake, as I have told you a multitude of times.”

      “The cake arrived home sporting three layers and a perfect fondant covering.  When we sat to cut it, the cake was notably shorter and your rudimentary masonry technique did nothing to hide the damage done to the fondant as you cut it to steal the middle layer.  The one, I might add, with cream on both sides, for you are, as previously noted, a glutton.”

      “Your memory plays tricks with you, as always.”

      “I am adding this obstinacy to your file.  Lestrade will offer much to receive its contents, for it is already thick and dripping with secrets.”

      “Good heavens!  Your file must be sodden and entirely illegible by this point.  Such a shame you chose that particular state of matter in which to instill the essence of your extortion.  You might consider a gas next time to enhance the portability and longevity of your information.”

      “Your pathetic bleating does not erase the thrust of my mission.  Provide your report and recognize that I will discern any attempts at deception, adding further to the rather catastrophic quantity of black marks currently upon your record.”

Mycroft scowled at his brother but, seeing the well-remembered posture of Sherlock settling in for a seven-year siege, sighed heavily and leaned back in this chair.

      “I would say that matters to this point have been…”

Successful?  That was certainly not the case.  Enjoyable?  There were _glaring_ examples where that was patently untrue.  Companionable?  For Gregory’s part, yes.  Gregory had been an exemplary companion, periodic descent into japery notwithstanding, but the same could surely not be said for _him_.

      “I knew it.  Already you are poised to unravel the cloth of your association and toss the threads into the howling, whipping winds.”

      “Have you been reading poetry again?  You know that does horrendous things to your mental processes.”

Sherlock’s squirming and thunderous snarl brought many memories back to Mycroft’s mind of the brief period in his baby brother’s life when he affected a more bohemian personality than he normally wore.  It could not be called a flattering time for Sherlock or an _enjoyable_ time for anyone having to sit through his recitations amid a haze of clove-cigarette smoke.

      “I admit that particular phase of adolescence was not my most shining hour, but that is not relevant here.  And you are shaming yourself with your attempts at distraction.  Report!”

      “Fine!  I… I have tried my utmost to be solicitous and demonstrate both care and concern for Gregory since…”

      “You abandoned him.”

      “Incorrect.  Since I took a prudent step back to evaluate the situation.”

Mycroft ducked the spray of spittle that accompanied Sherlock’s second rude noise of the day and set a few papers on his desk aside to dry.

      “Speaking of juvenile, brother dear…”

      “An effective tool is an effective tool regardless of the age level for which is it societally approved.”

      “I will concede the point.”

      “And I will concede that you are hiding a great deal of pertinent information, hence your dancing around and dodging of my questions.”

      “I feel positively nimble.”

      “Evidence!  Make your report and divulge your almost-certain failure so I may determine if this can be salvaged.”

      “There has been no failure!  Not… entirely.”

      “Continue.”

      “There have been a _few_ instances of, shall we call them, visitations by the agents of chaos, while Gregory and I have been together.”

      “Were you shat upon by glitter-ingesting, rainbow-colored pigeons?”

      “Does John know you are wandering the streets while suffering significant mental impairment?”

      “As long as I returned with milk, John would not care.  Now, shall we do this based on a rating system?  Would you prefer a 1 – 10 scale or an adjective-based assessment?”

Fractious boy.  Why could he not leave well enough alone and sleeping dogs to lie?  True, Sherlock had never done such a thing in his life, but as it was particularly aggravating today, aspersions would certainly be cast.

      “As I was saying, there have been a few instances of issue, however… I have done everything possible to diminish the impact of those on the overall picture of Gregory and my relationship.”

And now he was thinking.  Sherlock combined with thinking could be a terribly irritating combination and, with the current timbre of the discussion, ‘could’ was undoubtedly to be replaced by ‘as unequivocal a certainty as any of the conservation laws governing the realm of physics.’

      “Why?”

Pardon?

      “Pardon?”

      “Lestrade indicated that you have been caring for him like a baby…”

      “WHAT!”

      “Perhaps not in those words, but I am giving the testimony, so you will receive my interpretation of the events in question.  Lestrade enumerated examples of your attentiveness and I would know if you granted him that measure of time solely to divert his attention from the less-successful aspects of your association or if your simpering has been for another reason.  One that will keep my grading of your progress above the passing mark.”

Mycroft readied another retort, but realized that Sherlock did have some measure of point in his inanity.

      “No, I am not attempting to buy Gregory’s good graces with attention and assistance.  In truth… I am enjoying greatly the stolen moments that I can spend with him.  They may not be many, but they _are_ joyful and it is worth whatever apologies I might need to make to others for arriving here or there a few minutes late to see Gregory’s eyes light brightly when I step through his door.  And I can hear the same brightness in his voice when I speak to him on the phone.  It is for those reasons and no other that I have devoted my attentions to him.”

      “Hmmmmm… there was little passion in your performance, but the dialogue, at least, was not entirely disagreeable.  I would prefer to submit a rather scathing critique, for principles’ sake, but I will award a marginally-adequate ranking, instead.  Now, what are your plans for your next actual evening with Lestrade?  Your ranking can be rescinded at any time, so think carefully before you answer.”

Helpful Sherlock was a very unique variation on the breed and one that could be suffered in only the smallest of doses.  However, a good-intentioned Sherlock was something to be encouraged, painful or not…

      “Evening, then, is not the proper descriptor.  I have an unusually light schedule tomorrow and, given the weather is predicted to be a tad gloomy, thought it would best be endured with warm beverages and enjoyable books.  Gregory is an avid reader and a quiet afternoon sharing the time in a quiet and relaxing manner greatly will be, I believe, to his liking.”

      “Boring.  However, as both Lestrade and you _are_ boring, I cannot say it is an inappropriate plan.”

      “I am ecstatic that I have won your approval.”

      “Approval is overstating the situation, however, I will agree to saying you have not earned the entirety of my scorn.”

Which, for Sherlock, was actually a compliment.

      “Once again, I am overjoyed.  Now, might I continue with matters that actually involve more individuals than you and me or shall you continue to haunt me like Marley’s ghost?”

      “We have officially reached the level of boring that I find toxic and intolerable to sentient creatures.  Whatever you do, do not meet Lestrade tomorrow and poison him with your tediousness.  John will surely make me accompany him to purchase a suit for the ensuing funeral and the experience will require an extra coffin be added to the ceremony.”

      “John’s or yours?”

      “I will have an especially-large one held in ready so one _or_ two bodies will easily fit within.”

And on that happy note, Sherlock bolted from his chair and stalked out of Mycroft’s office, stopping once to give his brother a perfect ‘if you ruin this, _three_ bodies will be in the coffin’ look before moving on to the rest of his day, which Mycroft could only hope was free of innocent bystanders.  Not that _he_ was innocent, by any means.  Everything he had said to Sherlock was scrupulously honest, but the tale was a more complex one and that was what kept _him_ from giving himself a passing mark.  But, another precious chance rested with tomorrow and it would proceed flawlessly.  A simple and peaceful afternoon in Gregory’s flat where they could savor each other’s company and focus purely on the world within Gregory’s four walls.  A world large enough for two, which was the perfect number, in his opinion.  It was simply a matter of keeping it _for_ two and not a battalion of medics, firefighters, exorcists and undertakers…


	16. Chapter 16

      “Oh… Mr. Holmes.  Hi!”

      “Ms. Hooper, how delightful to see you.  Are you, perhaps, enjoying a day off of your strenuous, yet highly critical, job?”

      “Wouldn’t that be nice!  And, thank you!  Not everyone thinks what I do is very important, they usually think it’s a bit morbid, too, which I can understand, but something can be morbid and still a very important thing to do.  Actually, I had a health and safety meeting.  We have a LOT of those, which is rather odd for me to attend since I work on dead people and they really aren’t impacted if I have a cold and none of them are going to have any behavior issues that might make them dangerous if I turn my back on them for a moment.  They _might_ have at one point, but it’s not really a worry now, do you think?”

      “Soundly reasoned.  I’m afraid, however, such bureaucratic mandates are a tedious fact of life for all those who toil for the betterment of others.  And, I do suspect, a bracing cup of coffee is most necessary after the conclusion of such a soul-draining experience.”

      “I don’t think I’d survive without it, if I’m honest.  I try to be polite and pay attention and participate as much as I can but… I do think I can feel my soul draining out of me at times.  We’re on break now and I suspect if I don’t have a bit of caffeine soon, I might do something rash.”

      “Rash?  Really… do tell.”

      “I have a signal worked out with one of the nurses at Bart’s.  We send a quick text, and when the other person receives it, that person make a call so the _other_ person can say they’ve an emergency to tend to and leave early.  It works for meetings as well as for… well, we’ve all had that date we needed saving from, right?”

      “Another onerous fact of life that must be endured with fortitude.  It is the mark of a clever mind, however, to plan for a multitude of contingencies and implement the correct plan at the correct time.  My compliments.”

      “Oh… that’s very nice of you to say.”

      “Simply an instance of honesty.  And you may repay me by providing, perhaps, a measure of advice.”

      “I’d be happy to!  What can I do?”

      “I am hoping to surprise Detective Inspector Lestrade with something warm and invigorating on this dreary day, but I would prefer it be something he appreciates.  I understand his tastes run more towards the, shall we say, industrial-byproduct quality of beverages, but I know he frequents his particular establishment with some degree of regularity, so might you have, as they say, insider information, beyond he prefers his coffee as black as the heart of a banker?”

      “That’s a wonderful idea!  Greg does enjoy his tongue-dissolving coffee, doesn’t he?  I suppose he needs it with all the terrible hours he works sometimes, but I make certain that when we meet for a chat, it’s somewhere _my_ tongue will leave with me when I go back to work.  Though I did tell him the last time I visited that he should watch how much he drinks right now, good coffee or  blergh, because caffeine is a diuretic and he’s not able to get to the loo as quickly as he usually can.  He just smiled at me and drank half of his cup in one swallow.  Greg can be very stubborn sometimes.”

      “That he can.  It is one of his most endearing qualities, however, I shall keep that information from him lest it deepen the trenches he digs when he is being recalcitrant on an issue.”

      “Ha!  Then you can take the job of scolding him from now on, when he’s been a bit mule-headed.  And… hmmmmm… Greg likes his coffee roastier, if that makes sense.  Some are a little acidy and tangy, even the dark ones, but that’s not really him.  Try that second one along.  Or… the fifth.  They do have a lot of options here, but those are the two Greg orders most when we have a coffee together.  Oh!  And if you want to give him a real treat…”

      “I do believe I cannot contain my excitement from the particular pregnancy of that pause.  Confess your secrets Ms. Hooper, or the consequences shall be dire.”

      “And to think Sherlock says you’re as humorous as tax notice.”

      “He does have his little delusions, but they are positively adorable, are they not?”

      “That they are.  Anyway, I know for a fact that Greg bemoans the high cost of the beans so he can’t buy them and make this sort of coffee at home.  A bag of those would give him a nice boost.  Oh!  And some of those fat chocolate biscuits.  When he’s had a rough day, he always adds one to his order.”

      “Marvelous.  That is exceptionally helpful and I shall take your suggestions fully to heart.  Gregory has endured his convalescence with a laudable level of good grace, but small indulgences now and then certainly make the situation more bearable.”

      “Very true.  It’s hard on him, I think, because he’s one of the hardest workers I know and having nothing to work _on_ has to be very difficult.  Maybe I’ll bring over a few files to discuss next time I check on him.  We’ve got a couple of interesting corpses right now and I think his team is working on at least one of them, so that should keep him interested.”

      “An excellent idea.  He does become restless when his fingers are not in their pies, so any effort to keep him connected to his work will be very much to his benefit.  Thank you, Ms. Hooper.  It is good to know Gregory has such good friends to support him during this difficult time.”

      “I’m more than happy to help and…

!!!!!!!!!!!!RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!

      “To hell with you!”

This alarm clock was spared the lethal fate of its predecessor but suffered having its cord ripped from the wall socket and tossed across Mycroft’s bedside table.

      “Infernal machine.”

What a splendid way to start this highly-critical day.  But, as much as he would want to declare it otherwise, the lengthy sleep had done much to restore his energies and… provide additional information to put to use today.  How kind of his dream to place chatty Ms. Hooper in his path and provide highly valuable insights to make today an even more enjoyable one for Gregory.  And that was the single, guiding purpose in the whole endeavor:  this time _must_ be enjoyed to its fullest.  No accidents or incidents to wreak havoc, not a single one could manifest for this to succeed.  How had he navigated relationships, albeit not as wondrous as the one he hoped to share with the Detective Inspector, without a single snag of the magnitude he had witnessed for the first two official attempts to demonstrate his suitability to Gregory?  All had proceeded to plan, were placid and… well, uneventful was not a flattering word, but it was the correct one, nonetheless.  Pleasant times, but nothing about them that potentially could be termed ‘special.’  A simple conversation with Gregory was far more special than any fine dinner or night at the theater with any of his former romantic partners and that statement was highly revealing.

But, now, he had a shockingly-rare full night’s sleep to his credit, an enhanced plan for the day and a firm commitment to creating an experience that would succeed on all fronts – entertainment, relaxation, indulgence, camaraderie… affection.  He, Mycroft Holmes, was highly skilled at crafting and implementing plans.  They were his stock in trade, in point of fact.  That he had been visited by his life’s supply of stochastic events in recent days was a unique event and the likelihood that such would be repeated did not vary from nil to any degree of statistical confidence.  This _would_ work.  The master  planmaker and supreme schemer had declared it so and so it would be.  Of course, issuing royal proclamations was somewhat less inspiring when one was in pyjamas and being regarded only by the blank stare of an indignant electronic device, but it would suffice for now.  A few matters of business to occupy the morning and then… well, and then.  Of course, if he did not rise from the bed the day would not go precisely as hoped so that might possibly be the first step towards setting off to success…

__________

Mycroft took a quick peek before he walked into the bustling café to ensure his quarry was present, then drew in a breath and steeled himself for human interaction.  Must not be a tax notice, must not be a tax notice…

      “And what might be tickling your fancy today, if I may be so bold?”

Oh dear lord.  That sounded precisely like the opening salvo by a sexual predator.  Nicely done.

      “Oh… Mr. Holmes.  Hi!”

And clutching her handbag to protect her bosoms from unsolicited groping.  At least the young woman was properly schooled in the methods of dissuading novice sexual predators and their ilk.

      Ms. Hooper, how delightful to see you.  Are you, perhaps, enjoying a day off of your strenuous, yet highly critical, job?”

My heartfelt gratitude for relaxing sufficiently that the manager will not summon the authorities to protect your virtue.  That is not one of the approved activities on the list for my day.

      “Wouldn’t that be nice!  And, thank you!  Not everyone thinks what I do is very important, they usually think it’s a bit morbid, too, which I can understand, but something can be morbid and still a very important thing to do.  Actually, I had a health and safety meeting.  We have a LOT of those, which is rather odd for me to attend since I work on dead people and they really aren’t impacted if I have a cold and none of them are going to have any behavior issues that might make them dangerous if I turn my back on them for a moment.  They _might_ have at one point, but it’s not really a worry now, do you think?

      “Soundly reasoned.  I’m afraid, however, such bureaucratic mandates are a tedious fact of life for all those who toil for the betterment of others.”

You forgot the soul-draining piece!  That was actually minimally witty!  Clodpole… now, continue to engage and stay on script.

      “I don’t think I’d survive without it, if I’m honest.  I try to be polite and pay attention and participate as much as I can but… it’s certainly tiresome, at times.  We’re on break now and I suspect if I don’t have a bit of caffeine soon, I might do something rash.”

      “Rash?  Really… do tell.”

      “I have a signal worked out with one of the nurses at Bart’s.  We send a quick text, and when the other person receives it, that person make a call so the _other_ person can say they’ve an emergency to tend to and leave early.  It works for meetings as well as for… well, we’ve all had that date we needed saving from, right?”

      “Another onerous fact of life that must be endured with fortitude, I’m afraid.”

The flattery!  Where was the flattery?  Why did you delete that from your speech?  Perhaps you should have scribed your portion of the conversation on your shirtsleeve to be referred to when foundering like a ship beset by pirates.

      “It certainly is.  And the saddest bit is when you hold off making the text because you’ve had a dry patch in terms of dating and you’re willing to give even the onerous dates a chance because… well, the restaurant or pub is nice and maybe you can find something interesting about the person you’re talking to.  It doesn’t ever really work out that way, but hope springs eternal.”

And you have lost the seque into requesting your favor from Ms. Hooper!  Of course, the favor is not _entirely_ necessary at this point, however, there is empirical evidence that subtle … or not so subtle… differences exist between your dreams and your reality, and only with full confidence may you go to Gregory and present his gifts.  Now, turn the full potency of your intelligence towards this conversation and prevail!

      “It does at that.  Though, I am most certain a woman of your bountiful attributes has few such evenings through which to suffer.”

Smile!  You have prompted smile!  That, on its own, was as common an occurrence as enjoying a lunch that was provided in a plastic wrapper and should be considered the mightiest of good omens.

      “Oh!  Well… thank you, that’s very nice of you to you say.”

      “Simply an instance of honesty.  And you may reward me by providing, if you choose, a measure of advice.”

We now return to our regularly-scheduled programming…

      “I’d be happy to!  What can I do?”

      “I am hoping to surprise Detective Inspector Lestrade with something warm and invigorating on this dreary day, but I would prefer it be something he truly appreciates.  I understand his tastes run more towards the, shall we say, industrial-byproduct quality of beverages, but I know he frequents his particular establishment with some degree of regularity, so might you have, as they say, insider information, beyond he prefers his coffee as black as the heart of a banker?”

Smile _and_ giggle… verily today was a day of days!  A national day of celebration should be declared and all citizens released from their bonds of work to frolic in the streets.

      “That’s a wonderful idea!  Greg does enjoy his tongue-dissolving coffee, doesn’t he?  I suppose he needs it with all the horrible hours he works sometimes, but I make certain that when we meet for a chat, it’s somewhere _my_ tongue will leave with me when I go back to work.  Though I did tell him the last time I visited that he should watch how much he drinks right now, good coffee or  blergh, because caffeine is a diuretic and he’s not able to get to the loo as quickly as he usually can.  He just smiled at me and drank half of his cup in one swallow.  Greg can be very stubborn sometimes.”

      “That he can.  It is one of his most roguish qualities.”

The Ms. Hooper of the real world certainly did not need to know any of the details of his perception of Gregory’s scintillating personality, now did she?  Though ‘roguish’ was a somewhat _informative_ term to use for another person.  Drat, his hand was revealed.  Though, come to think of it, Ms. Hooper demonstrated no surprise that he would be purchasing for the Detective Inspector an afternoon beverage…

      “Ha!  It’s true, too.  You can take the job of scolding him from now on, when he’s been a bit mule-headed, since… well, since you and Greg are something of a ‘thing’ now.  Which I think is wonderful, by the way.  For both of you.”

Well… that was certainly a new bit of data.

      “Ah, so the Detective Inspector has made our association known.  I am gladdened that he is sharing our good fortune with those of his social circle.”

Dry, sterile, but affable and truthful.  And something very heartening to hear expressed so joyfully.  There might, just might, have been some concern that his Gregory would suffer a measure of curiosity or, worse, ridicule, when he divulged their relationship but, for this one case, that had not come to pass.

      “He’s _very_ happy.  And proud, too.  I’m not certain how many people he’s told, Greg can be rather private about his personal life sometimes, but I do know a few of his team were told and they’re relieved he’s found someone who’s being attentive and treating him with respect, unlike that horrid ex-wife of his or the onerous, I’ve decided I really like that word, by the way, dates he tried to rebound with after the divorce…”

Third- and fourth-party verification that he was, actually, making tangible effort!  This was splendid news!  Likely his dream self was not given this information, for his real self then would have spent the entire morning in a warm haze of comfortable bliss and that is certainly not the proper mental state when dealing with the IMF or, as he preferred to think about it, the Intentional Money Fraudsters.

      … and… hmmmmm… Greg likes his coffee roastier, if that makes sense.  Some are a little acidy and tangy, even the dark ones, but that’s not really him.  Try that second one along.  Or… the fifth.  They do have a lot of options here, but those are the two Greg orders most when we have a coffee together.  Oh!  And if you want to give him a real treat…”

      “I believe Gregory deserves such, given his condition.”

      “He really does.  I certainly would if I was in his situation!  Well, I know for a fact that Greg bemoans the high cost of quality beans so he can’t buy them and make this sort of coffee at home.  A bag of those would give him a nice boost.  And some of those fat chocolate biscuits.  When he’s had a rough day, he always adds one to his order.”

      “That is exceptionally helpful, Ms. Hooper, and I shall take your suggestions fully to heart.  Gregory has endured his convalescence with a laudable level of good grace, but small indulgences now and then certainly make the situation more bearable.”

      “Very true.  It’s hard on him, I think, because he’s one of the hardest workers I know and having nothing to work _on_ has to be very difficult.  Maybe I’ll bring over a few files to discuss next time I check on him.  We’ve got a couple of interesting corpses in right now and I think his team is working on at least one of them, so that should keep him interested.”

      “An excellent idea.  He does become restless when his fingers are not in their pies, so any effort to keep him connected to his work will be very much to his benefit.  Thank you, Ms. Hooper.  It is comforting to know Gregory has such good friends to support him during this difficult time.”

      “I’m more than happy to help and anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.  I’ve tried to keep a close eye on him and I know others have, too, but if there’s anything else to be done… well, let me know, alright?”

      “I will consider you a highly-reliable source of support and assistance for any of Gregory’s needs.”

      “Great!  Really, that’s great.  Oh!  I’ve got to run.  Health and safety doesn’t wait for anyone.  It was good to see you, Mr. Holmes.  Tell Greg I said hello, will you?”

      “That I will.  And thank you, again, for your suggestions.  I am certain Gregory will appreciate them as much as have I.”

Smile warmly… lukewarmly, if warmly strains your colon too severely and… yes, receive smile in return.  Keep smile in place as Ms. Hooper darts out of café and… oh why not… take a few moments to make your own text so that the health and safety torture is cancelled for the rest of the day.  It was the paltriest of rewards for such plentiful and valuable information.  And, really, no person of character or intelligence should have to sit through how to safely operate an office chair or carry tea _to_ their office to enjoy in their safely-operated chair.  The author of _that_ particular meeting had been reassigned to writing memorandums to the Transport Minister, who deserved each and every of the dead-hearted and pedantic syllables that leapt from the page and a full encyclopedia of them beyond that…

__________

The time has come, the walrus said… there is the door, you have a hand.  Allow the two to meet and let matters take their course…

      “If you’re selling something you can bugger off!”

Ah, the dulcet tones of the housebound Detective Inspector…

      “Be not so hasty to send me into the cold night, Gregory Lestrade, for I come bearing gifts.”

      “Mycroft!  And gifts!  Oh, my day is made.  Actually, just you makes my day, but I’ll take the gifts, too, because it’s impolite not to. “

      “Your mother would applaud your manners.”

      “That she would.  And… is that coffee I smell?”

      “Not quite the caliber of intestinal stripper that you prefer, but warm and flavorful, nonetheless.”

      “And… is that a book in your hand?”

      “It is.  I am finding myself with an afternoon free and, given it is a drizzly one, thought time with a good book and a warm beverage would be the perfect manner in which to spend it.  I, however, shall enjoy a bracing cup of tea instead of your precious coffee.”

      “Rainy day of reading?  Amazing!  You have the greatest ideas, Mycroft, you really do.”

      “Thank you, my dear.  For you, I do try my best.”

      “Your best is something of a marvel, too.  You know exactly what’s going to be the perfect thing for the moment.  I was just sitting here wishing for a really nerve-tingling cup of coffee and here you are carrying it in your hand.  Gimme!”

Mycroft made the most disapproving moue he could, though it only lasted a moment, before it morphed into a grin from the sight of Lestrade’s wide smile and dramatically-grabby hands.

      “And your mother-approved manners fly away like a bird on the wing.  I likely should not reward such demanding behavior, but I do require a free hand to hold my book, so I shall comply, most grudgingly, with your request.”

Of course, that meant moving close enough to share a hello kiss with the gorgeous man on the sofa, which was his own reward for a job very well done.  Gregory was positively glowing…

      “Let’s see… oh.  Ohhhhh… you didn’t.  You did, you amazing man.  This is from that little place I stop in now and again when I’m near Bart’s and drag Molly away from her bodies.  And it’s exactly what I usually order, too.  Is there no end to your perfection?  Is it humanly possible?  Inquiring minds want to know.”

      “You are a master flatterer, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Problem?”

      “Quite the opposite.  I am finding that I am most ravenous for your flattery and gladly consume even the heftiest portion.”

      “That’s what I like to hear.  And, see?  Deep into my Edgar Rice Burroughs.  I didn’t even know you were coming and I was already preparing myself for our lovely afternoon.”

      “Your prescience is most appreciated, because I hope to extend your enjoyment for some extended duration…”

Mycroft reached into his coat and removed the bag of ground coffee beans, rolling his eyes at Lestrade’s hearty cheer.

      “Really, Gregory.”

      “You have no idea how often I debate buying coffee to bring home and I never do.”

Well, he _did_ have a rather good idea, but some secrets were destined to remain secret for the sake of his ego. 

      “I am satisfied that you approve.”

      “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful… I’m almost worried about my cast coming off.  All this pampering has me a bit spoiled.”

      “Fear not that you will see the end of it simply because your motion improves.  I would never deny myself the pleasure of making you smile.”

Which the lovely man did with such unabashed happiness it gave Mycroft’s heart a little stutter.  This was a _staggering_ thing.  Gregory looked at him and… the doubt started to melt away.  It had taken an eon of time to reach this point, but knowing his interest was a shared one made it far easier to…

      “Damnation.”

Lestrade watched Mycroft sigh and pull out his mobile, his face yelling quite loudly that the person on the other end of the call best have an excellent reason for phoning or they might be living out the rest of their lives counting out grains of sand on an uncharted island somewhere the birds didn’t even like to visit.

      “Yes?  Ah.  I see.  No, continue and be concise.”

Everything about his guest changed in the blink of an eye and Lestrade marveled how Mycroft could be so warm and content one second but razor sharp and chilly in the next.  In the third second everything was set down on the kitchen table and Mycroft was focused fully on his conversation, speaking in a tone that Lestrade had never heard before and, if he wasn’t certain this was an incredibly important conversation, would be more than a little arousing.  Now wasn’t the time for that, though and… well, it might not be the time for _much_ because it seemed that dear Mycroft might be settling in for a very long time, though not with a book and a good cup of tea…

__________

The great and powerful Mycroft Holmes, sitting at a tatty kitchen table in a modest flat, using a laptop Lestrade had brought from the sofa table, as well as the one Mycroft’s driver had brought from the car, in addition to Lestrade’s mobile, Mycroft’s mobile, a third mobile that only rang occasionally and made his Mycroft snarl, and, finally, a very spiffy-looking tablet, all helpfully powered by the DI’s faithful power squid… it was a sight that had said DI absolutely captivated.  They’d even had guests!  Somber-faced people who delivered this or that document, took away this or that document, held short meetings around the table or, most worryingly, in the bedroom where the bed was not precisely made with hospital corners or topped with an expensive and tidy duvet…

All in all… It was magnificent!  From what snatches of conversation he’d felt safe to eavesdrop on, it was clear this was a highly critical international situation and his Mycroft slid right into his Monarch of the Universe skin to handle it.  In fact, Mycroft was so consumed by whatever was brewing and trying to _keep_ it from brewing further that no real notice was given to the cups of tea that were set beside him and taken away when empty, or the sandwiches and biscuits that appeared now and again to keep the energy up.  He especially didn’t notice that an on-crutches Detective Inspector was doing the delivering and taking away, or rummaging around for a vaguely-remembered stylus when Mycroft snapped his fingers for attention and mimed a writing action over his tablet’s surface.

This was one of the most _amazing_ things he’d ever seen in his life and Lestrade hoped his grin wasn’t going to split his face in two.  Except for being the door opener and Mycroft-minder, he could sit back and read or just watch his Mycroft do what he normally did away from lowly DI eyes.  It was clear, crystal-clear, why nobody else in the world could do Mycroft’s job. He was juggling more information sources and conversations than one of those androids in the science fiction films and had been doing it solidly for… going on 10 hours now.  The poor man even brought one or two mobiles into the loo!  If it probably wouldn’t earn him the promised throttling, the piss-bottle maneuver would have been suggested at some point…

Not that Mycroft would have heard him.  The sense of purpose, the single-mindedness, it was unbelievable and, also, the sexiest thing Lestrade had ever witnessed.  _This_ was what real power looked like, not those hot-air blowers you saw on the news.  This was the man who could have them crushed if he chose to and they were important enough for him to notice in the first place.  Actually, the _only_ thing Mycroft seemed to notice right now, besides the business that had him on high alert was when he got a small kiss on his head with the delivery of his tea.  But that wasn’t even true, really, because Lestrade was fairly certain that Mycroft was registering it on a purely subconscious level, but the small, pleased smile that briefly found its way to his Mycroft’s lips was… well, that was meaningful.  It was meaningful and important and said more than words could about what that gorgeous man felt for the silent person keeping him fed and watered.

Ten more hours of this, ten more days of this, it was alright.  All would be right in the world and the man who made it that way was happy to have Gregory Lestrade in his life, keeping watch that the very small world within these four walls ran as smoothly as the bigger world outside.  More smoothly, really, because it sure as hell wasn’t raining in here…

__________

Lestrade was just starting his second book of the night when a large sigh erupted from the man at the kitchen table and the Detective Inspector had the very great privilege to watch Mycroft stretch like a lazy cat, accompanied by appropriately-feline sounds to express just how good it felt to have a stretch after an exhausting job had been put to bed for the night.

      “Now that’s a sight I could use a photo of, but you’ve got my mobile so poor me losing the opportunity.”

Mycroft’s head whipped around and Lestrade immediately began wrestling himself to his feet seeing all the color drain from Mycroft’s face and shock jump into his eyes.

      “Gregory!”

      “You were expecting someone else?”

      “I… oh no.”

      “What?”

      “Oh no oh no oh no oh no…”

      “Are you alright?”

Lestrade moved to the table and tried running his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, but had his own shock seeing the tall man leap up and away from his touch.

      “Mycroft?  What’s wrong?”

      “I…”

      “Yes, you’re you.  A brilliant, beautiful you, at that.”

      “You… I had…”

What was it about all of this that was screamingly familiar?  Oh yes, when Mycroft went off his nut after their first kiss.  This was starting to make a little bit of upsetting sense.

      “Are you worried I’m angry with you?”

      “I tried, Gregory!  I tried so very hard and…”

      “Tried what, love?”

      “To be… to be what you deserve!  To show you that… that I could be a man you…”

      “Stop.  Stop immediately.”

Mycroft found his mouth snapping shut and he met Lestrade’s eyes with such a tortured expression that the DI’s heart broke cleanly in two.  But, he knew what to do about it…

      “In the shower.”

      “P… pardon?”

      “You’ve been working yourself like a machine since you got here and that was after, most likely, a full morning of work beforehand.  Go and get a shower.  I promise not to so much as look in the direction of your electronic web, though I _will_ need my own mobile and laptop back at some point.  That point, however, is not now.”

      “You… you cannot be serious.”

      “I am _extremely_ serious.  Have a shower.  A very long, very hot shower.”

      “I… I do not have a change of clothing.”

      “You won’t need one.  Just grab a towel and meet me in the bedroom when you’re done.  We need to talk and I’d rather be comfortable when we do it.”

Lestrade applied his steeliest Alpha policeman glare to Mycroft’s slightly trembling form and pointed towards the bath until Mycroft swallowed heavily and obeyed the command.  As soon as the door shut, the Detective Inspector kept his promise and ignored the ultra top-secret electronic installation in his kitchen and settled for turning off the lights, save for one small lamp so his Mycroft didn’t stub a toe and slowly made his way to the bedroom.  Yes, this was _very_ familiar and he did have a good idea of what needed to happen so it could be fixed.  All he could do, though was hope that Mycroft didn’t sneak out while his back was turned… that would really make things difficult because it would be a misery to get a cab at this hour to take him to Mycroft’s house to see this sorted…


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we arrive at the finish line. This has been a fantastic ride and I am extremely grateful to all of those who supported me while this story was being written. My special thanks go to [LydSqd,](http://lydsqd.tumblr.com/) whose generous bid in the [2015 Rupert Graves Birthday Project](http://rupertgravesbirthdayproject.tumblr.com/Birthday2015) to benefit [Wild Futures](http://www.wildfutures.org/), the monkey sanctuary in Cornwall, got this story in motion. She's an all-around wonderful person and without her prompts and inspiration, this story would not have turned out the way it did. And, now, on to our conclusion...

Failure.  What an utter and absolute failure.  His one chance, his _final_ chance… it was supposed to be so simple!    A pure, unfettered day to show Gregory that, yes, the times they shared could be good ones and the splinters of that were certainly blowing in the wind, now weren’t they?  The harshest truth was that he had not spared a thought, not a single one, for the man he so callously abandoned.  In the blink of an eye, he had cut Gregory adrift and focused full attention on other things.  Important things, yes, extremely important, to be sure, but… it was unforgivable!

Not a word, a smile, a glance… he had favored Gregory with nothing for hours upon hours.  And, to exacerbate his shame, the same had _not_ been returned.  Gregory had been wondrously kind.  With the single-purpose filter lifted from his vision he could see into his mind and replay the multitude of small gestures that shrieked into the night the tenderness of his Gregory’s heart.  Neglected, ignored, yet he strove, despite injury, to provide support and comfort to someone who certainly did not deserve it.

What could he offer a man like Gregory?  Certainly not companionship.  Affection?  He could offer that in unlimited supply, but of what good was it when it did _Gregory_ no good?   That his own soul filled with the most miraculous warmth when he could but hold for a moment Gregory’s hand was completely irrelevant.  He could not even craft an evening to celebrate what they hoped was a living, growing relationship!  Foul book and fouler dreams… since the onset he had wavered between believing this a curse and a blessing, but the truth was undeniable – curse.  Place in his hands the most precious, most desired gift and demonstrate in extreme detail how unworthy was he of it.  If he was different, even slightly, dearest Gregory could be his and happily his at that.  This was nothing short of a cataclysm and one entirely of his own making.

Mycroft let the water flow over him until it began to run cool, then stepped out of the shower and stared at the neat clothing pile on the back of the toilet.  He should leave.  Don his sweat-scented shirt and leave here never again to return.  Surely never to force the Detective Inspector to deliver the banishment in person.  Gregory would be kind, he would be spectacularly kind, but he should not have to suffer what would certainly be a conversation of some unpleasantness.  But, that would, also, be dishonorable.  Gregory had requested the conversation and it was the very least he could do to accept the judgment to be delivered.  It was not the easy path, but the easy path had never been the one he had interest in taking.  It should be no different here, even though at the end of that path lay a lifetime of loneliness.

Steeling his nerves, Mycroft wrapped a towel around his waist and realized only then what Lestrade would witness when he stepped into the bedroom.  He was… nearly nude!  His body was rather shockingly on display and… of course.  The final piece of the curse.  To step in and see the flicker of disappointment cross Gregory’s handsome face.  Or, perhaps, it would be relief, since he would not have to discover the unattractiveness at a more inopportune time.   Simply delightful...

Thankful for the small amount of lighting left on in the flat, Mycroft chastised himself for creeping towards the bedroom door like a child worried about gremlins and gave it a small knock before entering.

      “Come in, love.”

So munificent to offer that endearment a final time before the fall of the axe…  and so… oh.

      “Someone likes what he sees.”

Mycroft gaped at Lestrade who was, in truth, decent, yet had gotten into bed and situated the blankets so that they draped very low across his waist.  Very low.  Below the navel low.  Quite below the navel in fact.  Just short of…

      “Someone _definitely_ likes what he sees.  Those eyes couldn’t get any bigger and I have to say it’s giving my ego a nice boost.  I was worried you’d think I looked like a troll compared to the long, lean, luscious body I knew you had under those suits, but I guess I was wrong.”

Wrong?  What was wrong was in Gregory’s brain.  Or his vision.  Troll?  Had the man mistaken the term for the appearance of an incubus?  He was… breathtaking.  And looked so very inviting to touch.

      “Come on, jump in with me.  Or glide gracefully in, if that suits you better.  It would suit _me_ better because it would be brilliant to watch, but any way you do it is fine as long as you do it and do it soon.  I’m getting cold and could use someone to warm me up.”

Mycroft stood frozen staring at Lestrade who was crooking a finger to persuade him to come closer and gulped loudly as he hesitantly took a step forward before stopping again.

      “Problem, love?”

      “Gregory…”

Apparently, his Mycroft was going to need a little help with this and that was fine.  If there was thing he was good at, it was helping, no matter what form that help might take…

      “Come here.  In bed.  With me.  Now.”

This time, Mycroft moved forward with no hesitation until he reached the edge of the bed, then froze again.  Lestrade was very certain he knew the reason why.

      “Towel on or off, your choice.”

Several long seconds passed before Mycroft sat on the bed with the towel secured firmly around his middle.

      “Alright.  Now, one more choice, facing me or not.  Just tell me which.”

Another several long seconds with Lestrade remaining as motionless as possible so as not to spook the highly distressed Holmes and the DI received his answer as a soft and shaky ‘not.’

      “That’s fine.  Now, just let me… no, don’t fight me.  If you truly can’t handle it, let me know, but I would like to give this a try because I think it will help you and that’s all I want to do right now.”

Mycroft nodded slightly and let Lestrade lay him down on his side so he could be spooned from behind, Lestrade’s arm around his waist and the rest of him pressed closed to Mycroft’s back and legs.

      “Good.  Very good.  I know my cast isn’t the warmest and coziest of things, so if it bothers your skin tell me immediately, ok?”

Another slight nod was all Lestrade got for a response, but that was good enough for now.  His Mycroft was insanely upset and it was on him to change that somehow.  Whatever he needed, Mycroft would get, though.  That’s what partners did for each other, right?  Not that they were officially partners yet, but… that’s what he _hoped_ they would be someday soon, and there was nothing wrong with getting a start on things now.

      “Perfect.  And that really is you, love.  So bloody perfect.  Look at this body, for example.  Long, lean, creamy skin and all this hair!”

Thick fingers ran through the hair on Mycroft’s chest and the distraught recipient of that play despised the pleasured shudder that ran through his body from the contact.

      “That would keep my hands happy for… oh, for however long you have it.  And these shoulders…”

Soft kisses danced along Mycroft’s skin and that nearly did have him calling for a stop, because it felt like the grace of heaven and it was clashing violently with the acidity eating its way through his stomach.  But, Gregory would be disappointed if he did and he could not add that insult to all the previous injuries…

      “Wake up in the morning, roll over and give these a few good morning kisses to start my day.  And anything else that might want a little of Greg Lestrade’s sweetness before the workday starts…”

Mycroft could feel rather than see the wicked smile on Lestrade’s face and it made a microscopic crack in his anguish.  Gregory’s wicked smile was a glorious thing to behold.

      “Who wouldn’t want to rub this amazing belly, too?  That’s the definition of satisfying bellies, if I do say so myself.  Just a spot of softness and a gentle bit of swell so my hands can’t help but roam over it and adore every second I get to feel that perfection.  Now, let’s see… is your neck as kissable as your shoulders?”

The experiment commenced and Mycroft was finding it harder and harder to hide his response to Lestrade’s caresses.  Infernal body… how could it revel in this undeserved pleasure?  Traitor.  Self-serving traitor…

      “ _Precisely_ as kissable.  Walk up behind you when you’re on the sofa or pouring a drink in the kitchen and lean in to steal a few kisses from that swan-like neck of yours… that’s a mental image I’m going to linger over awhile, if you don’t mind.  Press my body against yours and enjoy a little of _your_ sweetness as a special treat in my day.  See your hair messy from a good tousling once you’re done with work and don’t have to look so professional, massage your feet while we’re relaxing with a good film and give those long toes of yours a nice suck… so many things I can do and experience with your magnificent form, Mr. Holmes and I plan on enjoying them all.  We need to get some things out in the open first, though, and I need you, I _expect_ you, to be honest with me.  Right here, right now, no lies and no omissions.  No matter what you have to say, the only thing that will anger, upset or disappoint me is a lie or finding out you held something back.  Do you understand?”

Apparently small nods were the communication method of the day, but more was going to be needed to get to the bottom of this and Lestrade camouflaged a deep readying breath with a small, belly-rubbing moan before getting the ball rolling.

      “Wonderful.  Now, I want you to tell me what had you so upset tonight.  Tell me what you were thinking that set off that reaction.”

Mycroft’s soft, defeated huff of breath was the saddest thing Lestrade had ever heard.

      “Must I explain?”

      “Yeah, I need you to do that.  I don’t see any reason for what happened, but I realize that my not seeing it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist to you.  I want to hear what you’re thinking so I can talk to you about it, ok?  I want to talk about it so I can understand and help you with it.  Can you do that for me?”

Lestrade ran a calming hand again down Mycroft’s arm and let it wander around afterwards while he waited for his answer.

      “I failed you.  It is as simple as that.”

That was a punch in the stomach that had Lestrade’s eyes opening wide, but it wasn’t as if he wasn’t expecting something along those lines.  It was a different thing to hear the words spoken out loud, though.

      “Ok… that’s a start.  Tell me what you think you did or didn’t do that failed me.  You’re very good at details, love, so give me a few.”

      “You were there, therefore you know them all.”

      “No, that’s not exactly true.  I know the events, but I don’t know how you interpreted them and that’s what’s important right now.  Talk to me about what you saw and what it meant to you.  I know my own thoughts, but I want to know yours, too.  It’s alright, Mycroft, but you do need to talk to me, so take a moment if you have to, but then I want to hear what’s going on in your head.”

Mycroft took more than a moment, but, eventually, Lestrade felt the vanquished sag in all parts of his bedmate’s body and knew the words were about to flow.

      “I planned for you an afternoon and evening I was confident you would find enjoyable.  After my previous failures, I knew this was the last opportunity I possessed to demonstrate that I… that I was worthy of your continued attention.  A man such as you deserves someone who can provide experiences that inspire a relationship to grow and deepen… I have proven that I am not such a man.  A simple day of reading is beyond my ability to bestow and you deserve so much more in this life.  So much more than me.”

Lestrade tightened his grip on the man in his arms and rested his head a moment against Mycroft’s shoulder.  His poor, dear Mycroft… the most powerful, intelligent man in Britain and he had the worst imaginable opinion of himself.  Well, that was why Greg Lestrade was on the case.  Mycroft was his to protect, even if it was from himself…

      “Alright… leaving aside the ‘last opportunity’ piece for later, and I _will_ return to it, I promise… I’m going to tell you what I thought and let you see how it’s different.  First, that could have been me having work mess up your best laid plans.  It _will_ be me a lot of the time, actually.  You’ll have done something wonderful and it’ll be my mobile ringing and I’m out the door to stare at some rude bastard who just had to die and kick a hole in our nice evening.  We’ve talked about that, Mycroft, and it’s still true.  We’re both going to need a lot of patience, tolerance and understanding and, when it fails, the ability to apologize for blowing up and being an  arse.  But, I don’t have any doubt that we can do all of that, so I’m not particularly worried about it.  But there’s something else, and I can understand you not seeing this part – do you realize what an opportunity that was for me?  I’ve always imagined what it would be like when you did what you do behind all those secret doors, but I’ve never, _ever_ , had a glimpse.  Now… well, I got to watch the show, didn’t I?  Do you have any idea how magnificent you were?  How fucking in charge and… masterful?  I was absolutely mesmerized watching you and more than a little aroused, if I’m honest.  I saw you leap right into what I am fairly well convinced was one of those situations where if the public found out we’d have blind panic in the streets and triple the catastrophe on our hands, and work nonstop to make certain that didn’t happen.  You did things I didn’t think one person could be able to do and you made it look easy!  That’s the Mycroft Holmes I imagined the first time Sherlock made mention that you were the ghost in the governmental machine making sure it kept working.  He said the corpulent ghost in the machine, of course, but you know how he is.  This was something I never expected to see, love, and I got my chance.  If you think I was disappointed, you’re wrong.  I may never get to see you under full sail again, but I can say I saw it once and I _very_ much liked what I saw.  Once lost afternoon out of countless… well, out of countless I _hope_ to spend with you is not even a price to pay worth mentioning.”

Lestrade gave Mycroft a little room to turn slightly and stared into the blue eyes that were now staring at him.

      “That is… that is _not_ what happened.”

      “Are you trying to tell me I don’t know my own mind?  If so, I’ll return the compliment, so think carefully.”

Mycroft turned his full observational powers on the Detective Inspector and, even with wishful thinking and outright mental lies couldn’t, in the final accounting, admit he saw any untruth in Lestrade’s face.

      “No, you appear to be truthful.”

      “That’s because I am.  Maybe it’s because I have to deal with this all the time in my work, but I know very well that two people seeing and experiencing the same things don’t view them the same way.  I recognize… alright, my turn for some honesty… I recognize that you have some insecurity about us.  Specifically about who you are and how you think that fits with what I need and want.  But, what you see about yourself might not be what _I_ see and things you think are terrible, might strike me very differently.  I’m not saying you’re wrong or stupid, because what you think or feel is real to you, but I’m asking you to acknowledge that there’s another person involved here and they’re not you.  They don’t interpret things the same way.  Sometimes, like now, that will work to your advantage.  Other times, it won’t.  You’ll do something you think is grand and I’ll get angry because it seems, I don’t know, controlling or presumptuous.  You’ll predict I’ll love a gift and I’ll hate it, instead.  Surprise!  That’s life.  When you’re involved with a person who _isn’t_ you, that’s the way it works out.  Now, I know you’re a lot brighter and more observant than any of the rest of us, but that’s not going to compensate all the time.  It just won’t, love.  What will is talking to me.  If something doesn’t go as planned or you’re upset, just talk to me and I guarantee it won’t seem as horrible anymore.”

Mycroft turned a little more and Lestrade wriggled back slightly so the slowly calming man could work his way to face the person who was doing an unprecedented job de-escalating his anxiety.

      “You were not frustrated with me?”

      “No, not this time.  Other times, I will be, but we’ll talk and keep moving forward.  This time, though… that was a chance I was happy to snatch up and will revisit very, very often in my mind.  You might be naked now and then, but that’s for me to know and nobody else to find out.”

The first fleeting smile crept out onto Mycroft’s lips and Lestrade gave an inner cheer that _some_ goals were being scored.

      “You have a scandalous imagination, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “That I do.  And I’m more than happy to share it with you anytime you’d like.  Right now, though, I want to go back to that ‘last opportunity’ bit.  Same thing, alright?  Tell me why you said that, what those words meant to you and I’ll give you my impressions of what you’re talking about from my point of view.  Go ahead, whenever you’re ready.”

Taking strength from Lestrade’s matter-of-fact tone and the comforting warmth of his smile, Mycroft swallowed slightly and began speaking.

      “I realize that you, Gregory, are a man who has suffered much in the romantic arena.  And, like me, you are not a man who sees the majority of his life spreading out in front of him.  I have tried, tried so desperately, to show you that time with me would be worth… well, worth the risk of further romantic disappointment and wasting of time better spent finding another to make you happy.  And… it has not gone well, has it?”

      “You mean the two times we had, for lack of a better term, real dates?”

      “I do, indeed.  They were _spectacular_ failures and I realized that I was at the veritable bitter end of my rope.  I needed this venture to succeed and, to my mind, it _had_ failed as completely as had the others.  This was my ultimate outing, and with the penultimate and ante-penultimate lying in tatters behind it… I knew we were at an end.”

      “Oh… ok, that’s something I can comprehend.  I suppose there can be a tendency to start keeping score when you’re with someone.  Who’s paid for dinner most, who’s brought the most gifts, who’s cancelled most often and who’s forgotten to buy bread for the hundredth time this year.  And, maybe, you can start to believe there’s a standard you’re measuring your score against.  Hit it and you win a prize or lose the game.  But that’s not the way it really goes.  There’s no magic number or final score that counts for anything.  That’s not to say you can’t fuck up enough that the other person decides that they can’t be with you anymore, but a couple of dates don’t come anywhere near that situation.  Well, at least, not for something that’s moved beyond the casual and… into something that has the very real possibility of being _special_.  Long-term special, if you understand my meaning.”

Lestrade reached up and ran his fingers over Mycroft’s cheek because it looked very much as if his Holmes was having a hard time believing what he was hearing.

      “And I do believe that’s us, love.  I’ve had a lot of time to think about it what with sitting on my arse day in and day out lately, and that’s what I really and truly believe.  It surprised me, I’ll admit, because I thought for so long that I was a bit of a bug compared to you and… well, maybe that’s exactly how you saw me… but that’s not the case, is it?  I’m good with evidence and I’ve had a lot since my accident all of which points in the same direction.  I think I could be very happy with you, Mycroft Holmes.  And I think you could be very happy with me.  I think you _want_ to be happy with me, too, which is the most brilliant piece of the puzzle.”

      “How can you say this after… I have not done well by you, Gregory.”

      “That’s _your_ perspective, not mine.  Let’s look at things through my eyes.  No, it wasn’t fun having my allergy explode on me, but what was important was that you showed me immediately how concerned you were and how deeply you were committed to getting me help.  Then, when you finally agreed I wasn’t dying, you were brilliant!  Taking care of me, constantly checking that I wasn’t relapsing, keeping me company, giving me all the support and comfort you could… I learned a lot from that, love.  I leaned you were someone I could count on if something honestly terrible did happened.  Not just to make a call on your phone, but to see it through and that’s important to me.  I bet it’s true for smaller things, too.  I come home, more often than I’d like, exhausted, starving, muscles aching, head pounding… to know that you’d step in and be there for me is something I’m extremely grateful for.  And I’ll do the same for you, don’t you worry about that.  We had a great night after that one bump, Mycroft, a truly great night, so that wasn’t a failure at all.  And neither was the ride in your car!  It wasn’t what we’d planned, but those are the best dates, sometimes.  The Fates throw you something different and you get the fun of seeing how it all plays out.  We had a good number of hours without distraction to talk and I learned a lot from that, too.  I learned that I _can_ talk to you for hours with no other distraction.  No film, no books, nothing but you and me and it was wonderful.”

      “We had to urinate in a bottle!”

      “So?  There was something to learn there, too.  I leaned my Mycroft is a bit shy and modest about certain things and is absolutely adorable when I prod him a little about it.  I was able to discover a few more amazing facts about you and I don’t regret that evening one bit.  I also learned you very much liked what you saw when you peeked at my manly attributes and don’t think that didn’t give me a little lift in the esteem department.  We didn’t ride around London seeing the sights, but we were together and had a lovely time with a few events tossed in that will make us laugh even twenty years from now.  What’s wrong with that?  We’ll laugh about my lava-kissed face, too, and the whole of London’s medical response force breaking down my door, which is, of course, how I’ll tell the story when I’m back at work.  It seems to me you looked at all of that and saw a mass of failure and dashed hopes… that’s not what I saw, though.  Not at all.”

      “Are you serious?”

      “Whereas I will admit I can play silly now and again, I _don’t_ and _won’t_ do it when we have something important to talk about.  I am _very_ serious, love, and you need to understand that whatever you’ve had in your mind, it’s not what’s lived in mine.  I’ve been deliriously happy and have had a marvelous time seeing all these sides of you and finding that I absolutely cherish every one.  Not every bit of our time together is going to be enjoyable or successful and I suspect that, with both our stubbornness, we’ll have some enormous fights in the future, but… again, that’s all normal.  What’s important is knowing it, working through it all and learning lessons that will help us grow stronger as a couple.  That’s something I think we’ll be very good at, actually.  We both spend our days using information to solve problems and go forward and that’s all it really is here.  Does any of that make sense?  I’m here to talk as much as you want, Mycroft, so tell me if you don’t understand what I’m saying or if there’s more in you that I need to address so you see how _my_ thoughts go.”

Lestrade gave Mycroft all the time he needed to wrap his brain around the situation and devoted his own attention to indulging his extremely large desire to feel more of Mycroft’s skin.  Which was perfect skin, in his opinion.  And appropriate, too, since it was attached to a perfect man.  Perfect in the way you want someone to be perfect, too… not _actually_ perfect, because that would be creepy and wrong… but perfect for _you_ in the ways that meant the most and perfectly imperfect, too, because they were real humans and that made the picture all the more colorful.  The immaculately groomed and icy Mycroft Holmes was a real man under that grooming and frost and what could be better than that?

      “It is somewhat difficult to think with your hands upon me, Gregory.”

      “Oh, sorry.  I’ll stop.”

      “No, carry on.  Difficult does not mean impossible and I find the soothing effect most welcome.”

      “Then on I shall carry.  But, are you feeling better, Mycroft?  I do want to do everything in my power to help so if there is anything you need…”

Mycroft took a large breath and shook his head with visible finality.

      “I believe I have all I require at this time.”

And that was the full and honest truth, much to Mycroft’s relief.  If he was sufficiently humble to admit it, he had not applied _any_ of his mental abilities to evaluating how Gregory had physically behaved during and after their experiences, but focused only on his own impressions and interpretations.  If he replayed the mental film footage from his files, there was no tangible evidence that the Detective Inspector felt any anger or dissatisfaction with their time together.  He had made the grievous error of failing to acknowledge his perspective was not the only one at play here and it was a mistake he never made in any other area of his life.  But, as Gregory noted, in everything was a lesson to be learned and this one would not be forgotten.

      “Anything you want to share?”

      “Yes, though I suspect you shall find no surprise in any of it.  I do worry, my dear, that I will bring you no joy, but I cannot say you have done a thing to reinforce that idea and the insecurity I experience is born entirely from my own mental workings.  It is not unlikely that I specifically sought to view matters in a particularly dark light to give proof to my suspicions and flagrantly ignored that there existed no unbiased facts to support my claims.  That, however, is my own demon to slay and it is something on which I will work.  With your help.”

      “Something I’ll be proud and delighted to do.”

      “And that gives me hope that the slaying someday shall occur.  But, I would ask, if only for unequivocal confirmation… you do believe that… you have confidence… you intend to remain… no that is insipid…”

      “If you’re trying in a very strange way to ask if I plan on keeping you in my life, then yes.  Yes I am.  Maybe it’s moving a bit fast and I know that’s a problem for you, but… well, I’d rather it be out in the open now so you have all the facts to work with.  Sometimes you just know, you know?  Something clicks inside and everything snaps into focus.  You find that perfect job or house or person.  I’m not asking you to make any commitments, Mycroft, or even to feel the same way.  But… well, we’re being honest, right?  There’s my piece of honesty to chew on.”

For the very first time that night, Mycroft reached over and let his own hands begin to run over Lestrade’s skin.  Which was perfect skin, in his opinion.  Gregory had an incalculable talent for stating matters in ways that made him feel the fool for failing to see things with similar clarity.  Clicking and snapping… yes, he understood that _exceedingly_ well.  He would not have suffered such extreme grief if that very thing already had not happened to _him_.  It was as if he had been waiting his whole life for the man now touching him in precisely the correct manner to settle his fears and give him the confidence always to express those fears, as well as his heart, knowing he spoke in an atmosphere of absolute safety.  That was something he had never felt before and it was… indescribable.

      “And it is an honesty for which I find myself most avaricious.  I recognize what you describe, my dear, and will admit it frightens me, in some ways, but bolsters me, in others and is something unique in my life.  I am more than slightly eager to explore it in more depth, however, and it is heartening to know you are as eager to join me in the adventure.”

      “Oh, and it _will_ be an adventure, that much I’m sure of.  I can’t see it being any other way, actually.”

Neither could Mycroft.  A grand adventure that his Gregory would share at his side.  It was a beautiful vision that, to his everlasting gratitude, was now his reality.  And, speaking of beautiful…

      “HA!  I wondered when your eyes would start roaming.  He’s very happy to say hello, too.  Lots of nights he’s suffered with your loveliness fueling some very filthy behavior perpetrated by the man he’s attached to, and now he gets to see what all the fuss is about.  You are an incredibly sexy man, Mycroft, in case you didn’t know and I’m not saying that to start anything physical, either.  I’m perfectly content to…”

Whatever Lestrade was perfectly content to do was lost to time because, before another word came out, his mouth was taken in a hard, fiery kiss that threatened to make his toes curl.

      “And I, also, have suffered many such nights with your image in my mind, inspiring the tawdriest of thoughts, which demanded to be acted upon if I was to find any sleep that night.”

      “Well, there’s no use suffering alone when misery loves company, right?”

      “I do find a well-reasoned argument terribly arousing.”

      “Arousing enough to lose that towel?”

This time, the wicked smile was Mycroft’s, who made his best attempt at a seductive show of slowly removing his towel and letting it fall from his fingers onto the bedroom floor.

      “Oh my… oh my oh my oh my… I knew I was a lucky man with you in my life, Mycroft Holmes, but you do continue to show me how lucky I am.  When this cast is off, we are going to have ourselves a night where your long fingers spend a delightful amount of time stretching me out so I can have that majestic cock of yours inside of me.  It’s not something I’ve ever much wanted, but with you... I want that.  You’ll give it to me, right?  Hard and fast or slow and gentle, however I want it, you _will_ see I get it, won’t you?”

There was no denying his Gregory when _that_ tone was used and Mycroft couldn’t say it bothered him even the slightest bit.  In fact, it stirred certain parts of him especially nicely.

      “You will get whatever you want, Gregory.  Merely say the word and I will happily comply.”

      “That’s my Mycroft.  Here, let me give you a reward for being so accommodating.”

Lestrade leaned in and started kissing Mycroft with a particular mix of tenderness and force that gave him a moaning partner in his arms before he even wrapped his hands around Mycroft’s cock and began to stroke.

      “The sounds you make, love.  I could listen to them all night and never get tired of them.  Shows me I’m treating you right.  Now, you’ll be good, won’t you, and not worry if I move around so I can make you even happier?  I’m not going to hurt myself, so I don’t want you worrying.  I just want you to feel and not think for awhile.”

Without protest, Mycroft let Lestrade nudge him around until he was flat on his back and in the center of the bed.  Then, closing his eyes, he did exactly as he was told, let go of thinking and just felt.  Felt the sensation of strong hands running over his body and kisses following along the paths those hands had blazed.  Focused on his nipples being licked and nibbled until tiny bites sent shocks through him that made him so needy he whined to beg for more, something he was given gladly and with the smallest increase in nip so his cock began to throb in time with the beating of his heart.

      “So gorgeous and so responsive.  My Mycroft is a prize and deserves someone who knows what he needs and is honored to give it to him.  I’ll always give you what you need, love, that’s one thing you’ll never have to worry about.”

And to cement the point, Lestrade pinched Mycroft’s left nipple tightly, held a moment and released slowly so the man beneath him moaned loudly with pleasure.  With a large grin, the DI lapped the sensitized tissue and continued moving downward, taking care to keep his cast from ruining the mood and keeping his ribs clear of Mycroft’s occasional arching back.  His Mycroft was magnificent.  This was a body he could play like the finest violin and never get tired of it.  Learning all his lover’s needs and wants was going to be one of the greatest joys of his life and satisfying them… that was going to be ecstasy.  Speaking of ecstasy, his Mycroft needed more of that and wasn’t it a lucky thing that a delicious-looking cock was right here under his mouth.  Oh, and it tasted as delicious as it looked.  One thing, though…

      “Oh no… no thrusting.  You just lay there and let me do what I want.  I promise I _will_ make you happy love, but in my own time.  So, you be still for me and I’ll tell you when you can come. You can do that for me, right?  Be strong and wait for me to tell you  it’s ok?”

Mycroft’s tiny whimper was accompanied by a quick nod that fired Lestrade’s own libido to a point he needed his own moment to calm down or this would end far too soon.  And that was not on his agenda, thank you very much.  Give his beautiful Mycroft every ounce of pleasure his body could bear because his partner was a phenomenal man and worth every bit of effort and control on _his_ part necessary to satisfy him properly.  And proper satisfaction certainly involved sucking that long cock into his mouth and letting his tongue pet it like a well-pampered cat.  Once he was in better shape he could maneuver more agilely and take this luscious treat deep into his throat but, for now, he had hands to make up for the lack of depth and those hands knew exactly how to stroke and twist to have his Mycroft’s body trembling as he absorbed the sensation and tried to stay as still as possible despite the mounting waves of pleasure flowing through his body.

      “So amazing.  You’re doing so well love and I couldn’t be happier.”

Not so much the words as the sentiment entered Mycroft’s mind and he moaned softly as it set his blood boiling even faster.  Lestrade slowly, but firmly pulling on his testicles while teasing the head of his cock with a very nimble tongue was doing its own part, too, to send him over the edge, something that made Lestrade gleefully happy to observe as Mycroft panted quickly through the intense sensation to keep his orgasm at bay.

      “So very, very amazing.  Just a little longer, alright?  Let me know if it’s too difficult.  I won’t be upset.”

But, Lestrade knew Mycroft would _not_ be calling an early halt to their fun.  Not the master of control himself.  Though it was fantastic to think just what it might take to bring him to that point.  Somehow, he suspected Mycroft would have a spectacular time finding out, too.  For now, though, it was more than good enough to lavish every bit of attention he could on his Mycroft’s body, letting his orgasm start to build then soothe him back down, only a couple of times, though, because he really didn’t know his lover’s body language well enough yet and didn’t want to make a mistake and spoil what was going to be a stars-in-the-eyes experience for the man in his life.  Then, when he couldn’t ignore any longer his own body screaming at him for neglect, it was time to thank Mycroft for being the greatest gift this lonely, old DI could ever be given.

Taking Mycroft in his mouth, Lestrade began sucking hard and fast until he could hear a continued, bitten-back scream in his ears and pulled his mouth off Mycroft’s cock, replacing it with his hands.

      “Go ahead, love.  Come for me.”

It took only a couple of fast strokes before Mycroft was coming hard, painting his belly and chest with semen and letting his voice fill the room and Lestrade’s appreciative ears.  And the sounds didn’t stop for several moments while Lestrade drew out the final vestiges of pleasure Mycroft’s body had to offer.

      “That was beautiful, Mycroft.  The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.  Now, I just need you to stay still a little longer for me, alright?  Keep your eyes closed and just rest for me.”

Something Mycroft had no difficulty doing since his body was in no manner under his control, being little more than limp muscles and a core of pure and boundless bliss.  Seeing the slight finger twitch of agreement and smiling smugly that his lover was too spent to even nod, Lestrade slowly crawled upwards and positioned himself over Mycroft’s chest, supporting most of his weight on bended knee with the injured one on the floor providing balance, and began to give his own aching cock some much-needed attention.  Perfect… Mycroft was so perfect and special and _his_.  This magnificent human being was his to care for and pleasure and laugh with and share the little things that made life worth living and that was wildly exciting.  So exciting that it only took a few moments before he couldn’t hold back his own orgasm and he felt it begin to race through him like sharp spikes of electricity and he grunted loudly as he came, sending heavy splashes of warmth over Mycroft’s face and neck.  Debauched and devastated… that was a look his Mycroft wore very well and it would be his joy and privilege to let him wear it whenever that incredible man wanted to.

      “You have no idea how stunning you are right now, Mycroft.  Really, I don’t want to take my eyes off of you.  My Mycroft totally ravaged and wearing my come… there’s no more lovely a sight on this Earth.”

Bracing his hand on the mattress for additional support, Lestrade leaned down and took Mycroft in a long and tender kiss, letting a small bit of weight rest on the body beneath him so he could feel the heat of Mycroft’s skin and the gradually-slowing beat of his heart.

      “But, I also know it won’t _feel_ especially wonderful in a moment or two, so I’m going to find a warm, wet flannel to get you clean and some water because I’m sure you could use it.  You just lay there, ok?  I think… yes, you can open your eyes.  Nothing you don’t want in them is going to be a problem… just relax and I’ll take care of everything.”

Mycroft slowly opened his eyes, blinking at the dim, but present, light and looked up towards the man who was smiling down on him as if he was seeing his fondest dream come true.

      “That sounds divine.”

      “So does your voice.  Be back in a moment.”

Lestrade had a rather awkward time getting to his feet and his definition of divine had to shift slightly because the sound of his and Mycroft’s giggles mixed together was, undoubtedly, the textbook definition of the word.  Grabbing his crutches and, with a final admonition for Mycroft to let himself rest, he hobbled out of the bedroom and Mycroft found himself smiling even after Lestrade was gone.  His Gregory was… incomparable.  There could be no one more compatible, although, none seeing them on the street might have that thought.  They were very different men, but their edges and contours fit together and linked them so, so very nicely.  Yes, it _would_ be an epic adventure to see the world and it’s happenings with this man in his life.

If they ever decided to leave the bedroom, of course.  My god, but the man was virile.  And wasn’t he a lucky Holmes because of it…

__________

      “Good morning, love.  I wasn’t certain if I’d see those eyes of yours open before noon.”

Mycroft smiled lazily and looked across the pillow at Lestrade who, truth be told, only woke a few minutes before Mycroft and had spent those minutes gazing at the man who shared his bed.  Mycroft Holmes after a night of fantastic sex was a sight to behold...

      “What a slugabed I would be, were that the case.  Did my mobile ring, by any chance?”

      “I didn’t hear anything and I would have in this flat.  Would people expect you in early what with all the business yesterday?”

      “I had not given it any thought, truth be told.  I do not believe I am ever expected in at any particular time, though I am most often one of the first faces to walk into the building on any given day.  My working hours are most fluid and I often start or finish matters at home as efficiency dictates.”

      “Good, didn’t want you to be late and get called in for a scolding.  Now, onto important things.  What can I make you for breakfast?”

      “Gregory Lestrade… I believe you overtaxed yourself sufficiently last night… this morning… to warrant an easy start to your own day and that is what you shall have. _I_ shall prepare breakfast after we tend to our morning ablutions.”

      “Is that a synonym for more sex?”

Mycroft made an exaggerated show of exasperation, then leaned over to kiss Lestrade on his nose.

      “It is a synonym for further cleansing ourselves from last night’s festivities and making ourselves comfortable for our meal.”

      “Oh, well, that works, too.  Give me a hand?”

Neither man was fooled by Lestrade’s cheeky grin and Mycroft made sure their first order of business was a glass of water and one pain pill for his dear Detective Inspector.  Sexual satiation could mask physical ache for only so long…

      “Of course.  In fact, I shall give you two.”

      “Most generous of you, sir.  Thank you, kindly.”

Giggles again filled the bedroom and continued in one form or another as the two men got Lestrade out of bed, both of them through all matters of morning business and Mycroft got Lestrade settled on the sofa to wait for breakfast to be served.

      “Huh?  I didn’t notice this last night.”

Mycroft looked over from the kitchen, then dropped the skillet he’d taken down from a cupboard.  In Lestrade’s hands was a small book bound in deep green leather with a dark, handsome brown spine.  A book Mycroft recognized sickeningly well and sent him racing towards sofa as fast as he possibly could.

      “Gregory, please do not…”

Before Mycroft could stop him, Lestrade had cracked open the wish book and Mycroft suffered having his hands swatted away as he tried to snatch it out of the DI’s hands.  Feeling the sour heat of fear rise in his stomach, it was all Mycroft could do not to erupt in rage over having the damnable book truly having the final stab at him, ruining everything at the perfect moment it would leave him a completely broken man.

      “Love…”

      “Please, Gregory, I can explain…”

Or not.  Perhaps he could concoct some lie to explain the phantasms that had beset him these past weeks…

      “Oh, I bet you’d love to.  Didn’t think I’d get my hands on this, did you?  Well, your conscious brain didn’t, but some part of you must have wanted me to see it.  One of those Freudian slip things, maybe?”

Now, Mycroft’s confusion was warring with his terror and that confusion grew as Lestrade patted the sofa for Mycroft to have a seat next to him, something Mycroft did with telling swiftness.

      “You’ve been keeping a diary!  Every time we met, every time we talked… it’s all here!  I won’t lie, Mycroft, this is incredibly flattering.  Did you really think about giving me that Poe from the jumble sale, but were too shy?  I thought you were a bit of a bastard that day, actually.  I guess I was a little hasty.  Oh!  And look how worried you were when I got hurt… I understand why you didn’t want me to see this, love.  It’s very private and I’m sorry I peeked, I really am, but… well, this is, what should I call it… the unvarnished truth, isn’t it?  No lust or nerves or guilt or anything that might be behind the things you said last night… the proof is here and it goes back a good long way.  Did you… did you bring this so I could ‘accidentally’ find it, you scheming beauty?”

Lestrade’s comical suspicious glare didn’t do much to ease Mycroft’s frantic panic because… here!  The accursed book was here!  It should be in his safe at home, but it was here and in Gregory’s hands and certainly not provided with the words that had both informed him and plagued him these last weeks.  However, in its pages… today it portrayed a very different experience.  Gone were the words that he had burned themselves into his memory and in their place were new sentences and paragraphs and… Gregory found them flattering!  And reassuring!  Would this infernal tome not stop confounding him!

      “I.. no, there was no such intent, but I _did_ gather my belongings rather quickly when I returned home and the book, as you see, is small and I must have slipped it into my pocket without realizing it.  You are correct in that I didn’t intend you to read it, but I am glad that you are not offended by the contents.”

      “Offended?  That you took the time to record our history and what it meant to you?  There’s nothing to be offended about over that.  And, not that you’d know it, but the book you chose to do it all in… it’s actually a really good choice.”

What?

      “Pardon?”

      “Now that I look at it, it reminds me of a little book my grandfather had that supposedly belonged to _his_ grandfather.  A wish book, he called it.”

Now, the terror was back full force and it was all Mycroft could do to keep his hands from shaking as he took the book from Lestrade’s grasp.

      “Oh?  D…do tell?”

      “I don’t know much more about it, really.  You were supposed to write a wish on the first page and then… it came true, I guess.  He was a bookseller, supposedly.  Great-great grandfather, that is.  Here in London, but I don’t know exactly where his shop was.  It’s written down in the family papers somewhere and I probably should investigate it sometime.  That’s something we could do together!  There!  You like that idea, don’t you.  Your eyes are wide as a kid’s at Christmas.  Anyway, he was a well-known matchmaker, too.  Got lots of family members and friends’ children and grandchildren settled with husbands and wives.  Had a real talent for it, apparently.”

      “H… he did?”

      “Absolutely.  Lots of happy marriages he could take credit for, from what the stories tell.  But woe be to the dumb bastard who didn’t treat their spouse or fiancé properly.”

      “W… woe?”

      “One time, there was this bloke who, apparently, got a bit frisky with a serving girl at his local a few too many times and old Grandfather Lestrade found out about it.  Hired some beefy lads to take the culprit into an alley and give him two choices:  a good beating and then mend his ways and be decent to his wife or a good beating and find a new place to live that wasn’t London.  You have to admire someone like that; he certainly took his work seriously, bookselling or not.”

      “Yes… that is most ad…admirable.”

      “Funny thing, too, I was thinking about him not long ago.  Wishing, actually, that the old bastard was still around to give me a spot of help in the romance department.  I may, just _may_ , have been feeling a little low and poor-pitiful-me and thought that if anyone could find someone who would actually put up with my foolishness and make an honest man of me, it was him.  Silly, I know, but a body does silly things when they’re lonely.  Looks like I didn’t need his help, though, did I?  Got myself the most wonderful man in the world all on my own.  Anyway, you put that aside and promise not to read any more of it.  How about that breakfast?  I heard the skillet hit the floor, so I’ve got my fingers crossed for something more than toast and tea.”

This cheeky grin was _entirely_ genuine, though Mycroft’s shaky one in return was stage dressing.  Quickly setting aside the book, Mycroft carefully patted Lestrade’s knee and walked as steadily as he could back to the kitchen.

      “Will eggs be sufficient?”

      “And beans?”

      “I… if you like.”

      “Yes!  I could eat the house empty right now.  Why do I suspect you’re a marvelous cook, too?”

      “I try my best.  You, of course, will be the final judge.”

Lestrade’s ‘Hurray!’ set Mycroft back into motion and he took a moment at the refrigerator to take stock of his thoughts.  He would never know what strangeness had befallen him, but he did know that, ultimately, it brought him the happiness he had long sought and that was something to be treasured.  And nobody would ever have to know of his small word of thanks sent to the vast unknown addressed to Mr. Lestrade, formerly bookseller in London, along with an assurance that an unfortunate encounter in an alley would certainly not be required at any point in the future.  His descendent was very safe, very secure and… very loved by the man hoping his unsteady hands didn’t send eggs onto the floor as an encore to his skillet performance.  Of course, he would not begrudge a small finger of otherworldy admonition wagging in his direction should he be neglectful in any manner, but it would be appreciated if beatings were kept to a minimum.  His Gregory would certainly question the bone breakages and that would not lead to conversations of a productive nature.  However, in the event of boredom, there was always _Sherlock_ to visit and chasten.  That would be amusing for _everyone_ to watch…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much hope you enjoyed the story and, again, offer my sincere thanks to everyone who took time to read it. Please drop me a note or hit that kudos button and let me know if it tickled your fancy!


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